


Hide in Shadow

by AuburnRed



Series: The Shadow series [1]
Category: Hamish MacBeth (TV), Last Enemy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drama, Espionage, F/M, Family, Family Seperation, M/M, Murder, Twins, deaths in families
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-13
Updated: 2011-03-12
Packaged: 2017-10-16 22:55:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 38,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/170277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuburnRed/pseuds/AuburnRed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A death in the Macbeth family forces the family to covertly work together and secrets to be opened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hard Rain's Gonna Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> RIP, Mr. Macbeth. In which we hear about a missing Macbeth brother. We also get introduced to a possible connection between two very similar faces, Hamish receives an informant as well as a link between his father's death and another murder, and meet another Macbeth relative in a surprise cameo.

Hide in Shadow

I do not own these characters. Hamish Macbeth and his gang are the proud properties of M.C. Beaton and BBC Scotland. David Russell and the folks from The Last Enemy are the properties of Peter Berry and BBC. There is also a cameo/guest appearance by a Macbeth family member who is actually owned by Disney/Buena Vista and Greg Weisman with some help from William Shakespeare (I may elaborate on this relation in a future date). I do however own Susan, Gabriel, and Nicole McArdle, John and Martin Brandell, DI Henderson, DS Gillis, and anyone else who doesn't seem remotely familiar.

A/N: The world of Hamish Macbeth is a combination of the book and TV series, with mostly the TV series thrown in (I like the series a little better than the books), but there are references to the book series- such as former girlfriends and Hamish has the large family from the books. I have elaborated on certain things like the siblings and his parents to adhere to an Alternate Universe, so my story has some very different twists.

The setting of this is a few years after the last episodes of Hamish Macbeth and a short time preceding The Last Enemy, with some later parts being set immediately before and after TLE. It starts off mostly for Hamish Macbeth, but Last Enemy stuff is prominent as well especially towards the end. This also contains some MAJOR SPOILERS for the Last Enemy. Thought I would let you know.

Chapter One: Hard Rain's Gonna Fall

Mr. Macbeth faced down the enemy. He could smell the cigarette smoke next to him. "Get down," the figure snapped.

Macbeth leaned down. "You wish for me to beg for my life?" he asked.

The person shook their head. "No, why should you live?"

"My wife and children," the elderly Scottish man said slowly remembering not to beg or show weakness. "My wife is ill. I have seven children. They need their father."

"Most of your children are adults," the figure reminded him.

"No matter where you will hide, my eldest son, Hamish, will find you," Macbeth said quietly. "He is a police constable. You won't get away with this."

"Those laws don't apply to me as you well know," the figure said. "Do you think that you deserve to die?"

Macbeth lowered his gray head. He had spent many years trying to forget those days. There were many days where he had settled into the farmer's life, loved his wife, lectured his children, had drinks at a pub with mates. There were just as many nights when he was filled with the screams, the killings, the nights that he knew would never end. Staring at the other person in the face, the elderly man knew one thing: he deserved to die. He nodded. "I've done some terrible things, never was held accountable for them. Yes, I deserve this."

The figure put their hand across Macbeth's shoulder as though they were just a friend confiding in him. "What is the worst thing that you have ever done?"

The man sighed. What was the worst? This person opened up the sins that he had long forgotten or blocked out. One sin stood out like a beacon, he knew the worst thing that he had ever done. "I gave up my eldest son without a fight."

"The constable?" the person asked.

Macbeth shook his head. "No, there was another. They were twins. They wanted to train him or Hamish. I chose him and the boy left. "

"So, you gave up your son," the figure said. "Or rather chose one over the other."

Macbeth nodded. "He was only 16, a lad himself."

The figure shook their head rapidly not wanting the old man to relate to them. Macbeth continued speaking. "But that wasn't the worst of it."

"What was the worst of it?" the figure asked.

"We searched for him for a time, but then I told my family that he was dead to us," the old man said. "The younger children barely know of him. I never told his mother and his brother that I found him years later. He didn't see me or if he did, he didn't acknowledge. I saw what he had become, monstrous, cruel, insane, a killer without any feeling. I couldn't tell them that I saw him like that. It would have broken his mother's heart and his brother- I can't even imagine how he would have acted. I never told them." Macbeth's eyes filled. Despite remaining the quiet strong front he always had, these past deeds overwhelmed him.

He lowered his head with shame and regret not seeing the person come up from behind him. "What is your son's name?" he asked.

The man sighed. "Ian, Ian Macbeth."

"How interesting," the other figure said. Macbeth said nothing. He didn't even feel the knife that slit his throat and bury into his chest.

Hamish walked into the Lochdubh Hotel's bar with a triumphant grin on his face. "The Ranken Robbery is officially solved," he said. He called to the Meldrums who stood behind the bar. "Agnes, Barney drinks for everyone!" The clients all stood up excited and cheering like children

"-Provided they pay for them themselves," Hamish added mischievously. His friends groaned and sighed at the constable. Some patrons like Lachlan MacRae Sr. playfully slugged Hamish before they sat back down.

Hamish was about to sit in his usual spot when his girlfriend, Isobel stood up to leave. They almost bumped into each other. "Excuse me," she said stiffly. "Congratulations, Hamish."

"Thank you," Hamish said just as stiffly.

As the young reporter left, Hamish sat next to his friends. Isobel bumped into Doc Brown as she left. "It's a good thing that you two are beyond that awkward phase or things would be really unsettling," he said dryly.

Hamish shrugged. There wasn't much he or Isobel could do. Things had been beyond strained between them for some time. Hamish accepted a bottle of whiskey and drank as he and the doctor made small talk. "So, how are things with your sister, Fionnulla?" he asked trying to remain casual.

Hamish couldn't resist a grin. He wondered if his question went beyond the typical doctor's curiosity. "Still fine," Hamish replied. "Still happily married." the constable said hovering somewhere between teasing best friend and protective older brother.

Doc shook his head. "I know, I just meant as far as her pregnancy goes," he said.

Fee was pregnant for the second time. She already had an 8-year-old son, Joe Jr., and was 5 months along. Her husband, Joe, was right now serving in Afghanistan. With her husband's absence and their mother's illness, this hadn't been an easy pregnancy. "Seems to be fine now," Hamish replied. "She got the umm- you know pictures uh-"

"-Sonogram," Doc prompted.

"-Aye, yes it's a boy," he said.

Doc was about to offer his congratulations when the door burst open to reveal Hamish's partner, Detective Jim Anderson. "Sorry to interrupt," he said. The police officer looked flushed and nervous. "Hamish, do you know a woman named Mrs. Grace?"

Hamish looked confused. "Aye, Martha Grace, she's my parents' neighbor. She helps look after my Mum." Hamish's mother suffered a stroke the year before. Though she recovered, she still suffered through occasional lapses of forgetfulness, and agitation, which Mrs. Grace helped with.

"She wants to talk to you," Anderson said. "She says it's urgent."

Hamish ran after his partner out of the hotel not saying another word until he reached the phone in the police station. "Mrs. Grace?" he said. "Hamish, here. Is something wrong with Mum?"

"Not exactly, Hamish," Mrs. Grace's warm voice said. From the background, Hamish could hear loud hysterical sobbing. "The police are here. Can you come identify a body?"

This request made Hamish nervous. "Whose body?" he asked.

Mrs. Grace sighed before answering. "It's – how am I going to say this- Hamish it's your father."

Hamish sank down onto the chair feeling weightless. "What happened?"

"We don't know," Mrs. Grace answered. "They came a few minutes ago and they asked your mother to identify the body- but under the circumstances-"

"-Aye, I understand," Hamish said. Considering their mother's state, she wasn't sure if she could handle identifying her husband's body. "You did the right thing, I will be right there." He hung up the phone.

"Jim, I have to go," he said. His voice choked low and hoarse. He didn't even recognize it. "My father's dead." It sounded odd to say that.

Anderson gasped. "Oh Hamish, no." He said.

"You'll feed Jock right?" Hamish asked. Anderson nodded. "I'll be back later."

The constable petted his beloved Westland Terrier before he left.

Hamish parked the Land Rover in front of his parents' house in Rogart. They had left Lochdubh and moved to Glasgow when Hamish was a teenager. Later, his parents and younger siblings moved to Rogart when some of the others were still fairly young. The house was usually filled with noise and laughter. Now it was eerie and quiet. Hamish glanced over at the police car parked in the driveway. Hamish gingerly opened the door. Mrs. Grace, a small gray-haired woman, greeted him with a quick embrace. His mother was seated next to the police officers. They were drinking tea. Hamish couldn't resist a slight grin. His mother would serve tea to a group of terrorists before sitting them down and hearing their life stories. She talked to the officers as warm and polite as ever, but there was hollowness to her voice, sadness.

"Mum," Hamish said. Mrs. Macbeth looked up at her eldest son.

"Hamish," she said and wrapped her arms around him. "These police officers are making a mistake. Your father isn't dead. He will be home soon!" Her speech had almost recovered from her stroke, but occasionally her words were slurred. Her movements were shaky, no doubt increased by news of her husband's death.

Hamish nodded and soothed his mother. "I'm sure he will, mum," he said. He turned to the police officers. "When?"

The older officer stood. He was a gray-haired man. Hamish could see the sorrow on his face. "Mr. Macbeth, I'm DI Henderson, this is DS Gillis. We think he's been dead since last night. Can you come with us?"

"Of course," Hamish said. He turned to his mother. She was normally a bubbly plump woman, but her face had sunken in and was red with her tears. "Mum, I am going with these men. Can you stay here? I will be right back."

His mother shook her head. "No, Hamish, I am going with you. If it's-I have to know."

Hamish looked from his mother to Mrs. Grace to the police officers, helplessly and he nodded. The constable and his mother walked out of the house into his Land Rover.

The mother and son followed the police officers into the morgue. The police station was a lot larger than Lochdubh's, with more people working at the desks and speaking to suspects. The officers led Hamish and his mother down a flight of steps into the morgue. Hamish involuntarily shuddered at the cold in the morgue. The slabs were empty with only two bodies. A middle-aged blond woman stood in attendance giving her visitors a tired but withering look. Gillis, a dark-haired business-like man, called Hamish and his mother over. "Mr. Macbeth, I have to ask is this your father?"

Hamish tensed as he held his mother, purposely trying to impair her vision. She gently removed his hand from her eyes as the officer removed the sheet. Mrs. Macbeth gave a loud cry of pain and grief. Hamish began to cry himself. He turned his head, but could see the gray –haired man that he knew too well. "That's him," he said.

"Where are his glasses?" Mrs. Macbeth said. "He can't see without them! I told him to wear them! He never listens to me!" She collapsed into her son's arms.

About a hundred different emotions, filled inside Hamish –anger, grief, sadness, but also his occupational curiosity. I can find who did this, he thought. Dad won't have died for nothing.

"Can I get a closer look?" Hamish asked.

The police officer shook his head. "We can't allow it-"

"-I am a police officer myself and I am his son, that's two reasons why you should," Hamish retorted.

Hamish gently laid his mother onto a chair and gave her a hug before he walked over to the body. He felt ill as soon as he saw him. His father lay on the slab. His eyes were shut. Hamish tried to hold his breath in as he looked closer. His father was stabbed twice in the chest and once across the throat. Hamish turned away from the ugly wounds on his father and looked closely at his hands. They were rough hewn from years of work on the farm. Those hands used to string bait properly for fishing, used to show his son how to fire a gun. No, the constable thought to himself, for the next few minutes he is not your father. He is just a body on a slab. His voice choked as he spoke. "He was stabbed multiple times," he said. "Despite his age, my father is-was a strong man. They had to have gotten close to him. I will find who did this."

The younger officer shook his head. "Sir, it appears your father was just at the bad end of a robbery. It is unfortunate, but these things happen. We will never catch this person. We just don't have the resources."

"With all due respect sir," Hamish said scooping his mother in his arms. "I will find out."

Right now, Hamish thought, I have to call people. Mum is in no condition to do so. The constable led his mother out the door and into the chilly afternoon.

One other Macbeth sibling found out the news as Hamish did. He glanced at the laptop as he looked up the name "Macbeth" on the screen. The elder Macbeth looked years younger in his photograph. He was next to four other mug shots. The word DECEASED filled the screen. The man pushed for more information, but the female voice said "Access Denied!" In anger the man pushed the screen.

"Access denied? What the bloody hell?" the agent growled. He sighed. It didn't matter. He had a feeling that he knew who killed him. He needed a way to bring it out. He began to type a letter to a person that he hadn't spoken to for over 20 years.

Barbara Turney waited outside the art gallery not happy about this meeting. She had enough on her mind without another complication. She just hoped it wasn't anything to bother the PM with, unlike the other issues. She glanced at her watch glancing around for any signs of being watched or followed. She breathed a sigh of relief when the elderly bespectacled man finally emerged from the gallery.

"I had a feeling you'd be here," Turney said dryly.

George Gibbon didn't acknowledge his fellow number's attempt at humor. "Have you heard anymore about the trouble in Afghanistan?"  
The two superiors in British government walked away from the gallery making sure they were among crowds of people, so no one would pay attention to their conversation. "We don't know anymore about the Hep-B vaccinations than we did earlier," Turney replied putting a brave face on the events. "But one of the workers apparently has been asking too many questions. We'll have to look into that. For now we are monitoring the situation as close as we can."

"And TIA, how successful are we on getting that accepted?," Gibbon asked.

Turney waved her hand in a so-so manner. "Well according to some of the Edinburgh researchers, there is enough support from the general public, but still a lack of interest from the top level. Our new Government Minister suggested that maybe we get someone to represent our view, to speak for us at the debates, you know a common voice for the people a-"

"-a mascot, "Gibbon suggested.

Turney nodded. "The Government Minister knows a few people that might fit the role." She paused for a moment. "I assume that you didn't want my attention for these events."

Gibbon glanced right and left then grabbed the female superior by the arm. He then led her to a spot by the bridge that unoccupied and they could see a full view of anyone watching or listening. "Someone has been sneaking through older files."

Turney stared at the older man confused. George had a tendency to veer more towards nerves and paranoia, than the other superior officers. Privately, Turney wondered if his better days were behind him. After all, he was her superior once. "Many of the older files are available on the Internet. Anyone can access them George."

"Not certain restricted ones," George whispered in her ear. "Like 'The Lion and the Unicorn.'"

Turney's eyes narrowed. She knew what he was talking about. "Not one of our finest hours. It could have been an enemy agent."

"Doubtful," Gibbon said. Turney noticed that Gibbon carried a small file with him. "This is what they were able to access."

Turney looked at the files and saw the names of the personnel that were involved in what had long been considered one of the darker moments in SIS history. Turney had been a child then, 11 years old just starting secondary school. Barbara thought nostalgically that her only worries at the time were fending off the advances of the annoying Roger Barrington, and trying to see the Rolling Stones concerts that her older sisters were allowed to attend. She cleared her throat, leaving her momentary daydream. She glanced at the names and dossiers of the agents involved. "It could be a coincidence," Turney suggested.

"Two of the former agents have been killed in the last two weeks," Gibbon replied. "Hardly a coincidence."

Turney glanced at one of the files, a name and face stuck out in her mind. She shook her head. _This is_ _the part where I should be surprised,_ she thought unenthusiastically. "I know who more than likely did. For now, we will keep an eye on him and see what he does with the information. "

Murdo Macbeth stared at his watch as he waited for the airplane to arrive. He could hear the announcement on the loudspeaker. "Flight 231 from London is disembarking now". The computer analyst had agreed to meet his younger brother, Malcolm at the airport and the two were going to drive to their mother's. He spoke again to his partner, Elsie Lancaster on his cell. "I'll be back soon, Elsie," he promised. "Don't worry about the Worms. We can work on the research together." Elsie and he were given the job of troubleshooting and analysis for Total Information Awareness, or TIA. It was a big job and they had just studied on the negative aspects of TIA, like the lack of privacy. Of course their supervisors, Bryan Holland and Andrew Wilcox were not happy and commanded that they do the research again (in their favor, of course). Murdo knew that Elsie was partly sympathetic to his father's death, but also upset that she had to work from Edinburgh on her own. Murdo reassured that he will work on his end from Rogart using his laptop. They both knew what this meant. If this research was done well, the two researchers had the chance to get promoted to the main office in London.

"Murdo!" a loud voice boomed over the crowd. Murdo looked to see a familiar figure jump out of the security gangway. Malcom patiently waited as a security officer accepted his National I.D. card. The officer processed the card then waved the young Scottish doctor through.

Malcolm Macbeth reached out and clapped his brother on the shoulder. Murdo and Malcolm looked enough alike that people mistook them for twins though Murdo was older by seven years. They were both tall with bushy red hair, and gangly frame and features. Though right now, Murdo looked cleaner and more tucked in with his dark pressed suit, and the glasses that he wore. Malcolm's hair was bushier and was dressed in very dirty khakis. "How's mum?" Malcolm asked.

Murdo shrugged. "Hamish didn't say much. He just said that she is as well as can be expected. Fee and the younger ones are coming by later and I guess Robey and well, Marcia will stop tonight. How are you doing?"

Malcolm shrugged. "Well considering that I survived a 7 hour jeep ride, a 2 hour walk to a private airport, an 8 hour flight on what I am pretty sure was a cargo plane used for livestock, then a 4 hour layover in Brussels for a 3 hour flight, then to London on another flight, from one major airport in the U.K. after another to be processed, briefed, as though I were Europe's Most Dangerous Criminal to attend my father's funeral. Under the circumstances, I think I would like a beer first."

Despite the gravity of the situation, Murdo couldn't resist a laugh. Malcolm was always a storyteller with a flair for exaggeration and loved to make his siblings laugh. It was hard to believe that he was interning in Doctors Without Borders, but he took his job very seriously and appeared to enjoy it. "Tell you something, you could shower and shave at my place. We can drive to Mum's tomorrow."

"You sure they won't be expecting us sooner?" Malcolm asked.

Murdo shook his head. "No, I'll call Hamish. I'm sure he will understand." He was about to dial the number when a familiar and not altogether welcome voice interrupted him.

"Macbeth, funny seeing you here," Murdo looked up in nervousness to see his employers, Bryan Holland and Andrew Wilcox glancing at him.

Murdo stammered. "Mr. Holland; Mr. Wilcox, I'm surprised to see you myself. I am working! I just had a family errand. I have an emergency and won't be returning to work."

"We understand," Wilcox said trying to sound sympathetic. "We are on our way back to London."

"That's good," Murdo said awkwardly.

"Aren't you going to introduce us," Holland asked nodding at Malcolm.

Murdo laughed slightly embarrassed. "Oh Bryan Holland, Andrew Wilcox, this is my brother, Malcolm Macbeth. Malcolm, they are the heads of our company Mr. Holland and Mr. Wilcox."

"Pleasure to meet you, Macbeth," Holland said doing a slight laugh at the name.

"Grand to greet ya," Malcom said rolling the "r"' s in an exaggerated fashion. He stuck out his dirty hand. Both men gave it a glowering look but shook it. Murdo put his hand in front of his face mortified as his supervisors pulled away like they were asked to hold a stick of dynamite. Holland in particular looked like he was about to be sick.

"Well we must be going," Wilcox said. "It was an um pleasure to meet you; Macbeth." Holland and Wilcox walked away. When they were further along, Malcolm snickered.

"If I had known that I would be in the presence of Royalty, I would have dressed appropriately," he said with an exaggerated bow.

Murdo shook his head. "Don't mind them. Let's go."

"Oh and Macbeth," Holland called. Murdo and Malcolm turned around. "We offer our sympathies over the death of your father." The dark haired businessman turned with his partner heading for their flight.

Malcolm faced his brother, his mouth hanging open. "How did they- Did you tell him?"

Murdo shook his head, but didn't look surprised. "No, I just told them a family emergency. I didn't use any specifics. The only one I told was a co-worker. But you will find in this day and age a lot of people know things that they shouldn't."

"That tracking system thingie," Malcolm said. "The one Robyn talks about Total something?"

Murdo nodded. "TIA, it will protect us from terrorists, track missing people. It will be better for this country in the long run."

"You sound like someone trying to convince yourself," Malcolm said putting his hand on his brother's shoulder.

Murdo cleared his throat glowering at how close to the truth his brother was getting. "We're not here for this. Shouldn't we be talking about Dad? My car's outside. Let's get to my place."

Malcolm shrugged and collected his bags as his brother led him through the gray Edinburgh afternoon.

Hamish walked back into the house, his hands filled with mail. He glanced through sorting the post that was for his mother and father. He glanced at a fishing magazine that was addressed to his father. _I_ _guess he won't need that now_ , he thought. _No, don't think about that._ He hurriedly flipped through the rest of the mail. Sandwiched between a bill and an advertisement for a children's charity, Hamish saw a letter that was addressed to him! _Who could have sent me something here?_ , he thought. He pulled out the letter. Sure enough it was addressed to him care of his mother's house. The letter was in a plain envelope with no return address. With shaking hands, Hamish opened the envelope and read the contents:

Constable Macbeth:

Your suspicions were correct. It wasn't just a random robbery that killed your father. Check the police records for August 12-15, this year. You will find them very enlightening.

The letter was unsigned and typed. The door to his mother's room opened and the constable could hear footsteps coming down the stairs. Hamish hid the mysterious letter in his pocket as Doc Brown approached him. "I gave her a sedative," he said. "She should be sleeping now."

Hamish nodded. "Thank you and thank you for coming. Hell of a time for her regular doctor to be on vacation. I'm sorry to drag you here."

The dark-haired doctor shook his head. "No, you're my friend. I'm just glad to help." He took out a few samples of pills. "You should give these to her, every four hours. It might do you some good to take them yourself. How are you holding up?"

Hamish shook his head. He suddenly felt exhausted. "Trying to hold myself together as much as I can, you know. The rest of my family should be arriving soon."

"That's good," Doc replied. "Please let us know when the funeral is going to be. Me and the rest of the gang talked about it and we want to form a party to come."

Hamish shook his head. "That won't be necessary. The funeral will be here. My folks hadn't lived in Lochdubh in years. None of you have to come."

"We're your friends," Doc said. "We're coming."

Hamish smiled. "Thank you," he said.

"You're welcome and someone else has been missing you too," he opened the front door and whistled. A familiar panting dog ran into the house and leapt up to the police officer's arms.

"Jock!" Hamish held the Westie tightly as the dog lapped his master's face. "It's okay. I miss your granddad too."

Doc smiled and gave a slight chuckle. "I will be off." He opened the door to see a red-haired woman approach. She held the hand of a small boy. Two other children walked beside her.

"Fee- uh I mean Mrs. Campbell, it's good to see you again," Doc stammered."Congratulations on your upcoming event and my condolences. "

"Thank you, Doc," Fee responded. Her soft voice was tinged with sadness and exhaustion. "I appreciate it."

She shepherded the children into the house as Doc left. Fee embraced her older brother tightly finally letting the tears that she was trying to hide come. "I can't believe it," she said.

"I know, I know," Hamish soothed his sister. "It will be alright. You'd better sit. This can't be good for my wee nephew." He placed his hand on his sister's swollen belly. She was very fragile right now. She didn't need another blow like this with her husband away. Fee lowered her body onto a nearby chair as Hamish hugged his nephew, Joe Jr. and his youngest brother, Alec, and sister, Murron.

The Macbeth siblings were split down the middle in looks. Fee, Robyn, Malcolm, and Murdo all favored their mother with their red hair and taller frames, while Hamish, Alec, and Murron looked more like their father with their smaller frames and sandy hair. It wasn't unusual for Hamish to take Alec and Murron on outings and a stranger would assume that they were his son and daughter. Sometimes Hamish would politely correct them. Other times if he was feeling mischievous he would say something like "Yeah, and they had better behave themselves or they'll be hearing it from me and their mum when they get home," always earning an embarrassed eye roll and comment from Alec.

"It's not true is it, Hamish?" Murron said. Though 11, she had a childlike lilt to her voice making her sound younger than she was. "Alec said that Dad isn't coming back!"

Hamish glared at his younger brother. Alec was 13 and had the typical teenager attitude. Alec and Murron lived with their older sister and brother-in-law. After their mother's stroke, their father found it impossible to deal with them so they moved in with Fee and Joe. Hamish was a frequent visitor and allowed the younger siblings to visit him quite often.

"Well its true isn't it?" Alec asked.

"Yes," Hamish said. "But I'm sure you probably upset her."

Alec glared at him. Despite the situation, Hamish couldn't resist a nostalgic grin. The way that Alec glared at authority figures reminded him of his long-gone brother, Ian. He always stared any adversary down daring them to make the first move. "I told her the truth."

Hamish turned to his sister. "Yes, Murrie, it's true. Dad isn't coming back."

"Why?" Murron's large eyes wavered with tears and her lip shook.

Hamish shrugged. Murron had the mentality of a 6 year old and because of her size a lot of people assumed she was younger than she was. Did he address this question as the 11 year old she was or the 6 year old she seemed to be? He decided on the latter approach. "Well you know there are some terrible people who want something that others have," he said. "Sometimes, they become angry for some reason and they don't care about who they hurt."

"But you will find out who did it right?" Joe Jr. asked. This time all three children looked at Hamish.

"I will find out, I promise," Hamish said. He cleared his throat. "Have any of you eaten? I will put something together. "

He wandered into the kitchen with Jock following close behind. He heat up cans of soup for his sisters, brother, and nephew. The family then heard the front door open. "Knock knock," a voice said. A young woman with black clothing and her hair dyed in jet black with red streaks entered. She was hand in hand with a blond woman who was maintaining a respectful distance.

"Robey," Murron said. She ran up to her older sister. Alec tried to look cool, but clapped Robyn on the hand. She gripped her brother on the shoulder. Robyn hugged the younger children, then Fee and Hamish. "How's mum? What happened?" she asked.

"Mum's upstairs asleep," Hamish replied. "Dad was stabbed. They think it was a robbery, but I don't know."

"You'll find out I'm sure of it," Robyn said. "You're one of the few fascist police officers I can actually stomach." Even though she was a political activist, Hamish knew his sister was teasing.

"I'm sorry this is for family only," Fee said giving the other woman a withering glance.

"I came with Robyn," the woman said with a soft Australian accent.

"Marcia is family," Robyn replied. "She's welcome to stay here. She said with your husband gone, at least one of us should have our spouse with us."

"You two aren't married," Fee said through clenched teeth at her wilder sister. "Don't compare your relationship to mine!"

"Since when does that matter and for your information we had a civil ceremony last year," Robyn remarked.

"Congratulations," Hamish said trying to keep the peace between the two sisters.

"That's not a marriage," Fee replied.

"Because of Bible beaters like you that's all we get," Robyn snapped.

Fee was about to say something else when Hamish stood between his two sisters. "Fionnulla, Robyn, you both have very strong opinions and no one appreciates that more than I do. But this is hardly the time or the place to air them!" He turned to Marcia. "I'm sorry Marcia that you had to come here and see my sisters at their worst." Privately, Hamish considered himself conservative about the issue of homosexuality but he knew that these arguments may have cost the Macbeth family one sibling. He didn't want to see it happen again.

"That's alright, Mr. Macbeth," the blonde woman said dryly. "I should be used to it by now."

"Hamish please," the constable said. He liked his sister-in-law instantly. She had natural warmth that a lot of people immediately gravitated towards. Fee and Robyn sat across from each other occasionally hitting one another with angry looks, but at least biting their tongues.

"When are Murdo and Malcolm coming?" Robyn asked.

"Tomorrow, apparently," Hamish said. "Malcolm's flight came in late and Murdo suggested that he rest before they got here. I can't blame them."

The sisters and Marcia nodded. "We need to make some plans," Fee said. "Have you contacted any of the other relatives, aunts, uncles?"

Hamish shook his head. "I figured we can wait on that until we all got here and divide them up amongst ourselves. I did call the church for the funeral though. " He stood up. "Can you excuse me for a minute? I will be right back."

"Hamish, where are you going?" Robyn asked.

"I'm doing my job," Hamish replied shortly. He drove his car to the police station.

Lynn Forsyte, the clerk for the Rogart constabulary, listened as the man spoke on the phone with a tone of impatience and with more than a little condescendence. "A man will come here asking for information. You are to give him whatever he asks for. Do you understand me?"

"How will I know this man when I see him?," Lynn asked.

"He's a police constable from some town, somewhere. He's short sandy hair-" He continued to describe him.

"Is he a relative?" the woman dryly asked.

"If he were, I'd have told you," the man snapped."That is none of your business! What is your business is what he asks for! You are also not to tell him anything about me, do I make myself perfectly clear?"

"Well if you're going to be like that-"Lynn began, but that was as far as she got. The man hung up. _Good riddance_ , she thought, _he was rude_! She wouldn't have even agreed, except the man knew about her fiancé's criminal record. (Not really a record, Danny was just politically active and involved in various demonstrations.) Of course that complicated her position at the police department.

She glowered at the strange visit as she returned to her work. She placed a folder in the file cabinet when a softer voice interrupted her. "Excuse me," the man said. "I would like your help."

Lynn glanced over at the visitor. "What can I do for you?" she asked.

"My name is Police Constable Hamish Macbeth," the man said. He showed her his badge and his I.D. card. "I need some information for a case that I am working on." Hamish waited patiently as she scanned the card. The smaller polices stations like Lochdubh were not scanning for I.D.'s . Yet, Hamish thought.

"What do you need?" Lynn asked.

"Police records from August 12-15," he said. "I wish I could tell you more than that."

Lynn shrugged and opened the file cabinet. "Here you are. Anything else?"

Hamish shook his head. "No, that will be all. Thank you for your help." He gave a small sad smile as he accepted the file.

Hamish finished reading the file, when he saw DI Henderson appear. The gray haired detective looked as old as he had the night he led Hamish and his mother to his father's body.

"Need something Macbeth?" Henderson asked.

Hamish glared. He was furious at this man. "Just catching up on reading like why you didn't see fit to tell me about Ben Al-Harrad?" He gave him the file marked August 12. Henderson flipped through the papers as Hamish continued to speak. "He was killed the exact same way and found in the exact same place as my father only two weeks before and you don't think that there is a connection?"

Henderson shook his head. "Ben Al-Harrad's murder was seen as a robbery and a hate crime. We didn't make the connection."

Hamish nodded. "I see, stabbed three times, nothing was taken, no witnesses, found in the same warehouse. I'm sure his family accepted your condolences."

"Actually his brother came and sent him back to Armenia or wherever his family was from," Henderson said testily. "His widow was unable to come to this country. They were just glad that he was found. Mr. Macbeth you have my sympathies. But, are you sure that you aren't searching for patterns that aren't there?"

Hamish rubbed his forehead. He didn't usually pursue a murder like this, but this was his father for crying out loud. Exhaustion filled him. He had only slept four hours in the past 36. The grief was beginning to overwhelm him. There wasn't much that he could do here. He had one last card to play.

Hamish arrived outside the warehouse where his father and Mr. Al-Harrad were killed. He spoke to a man who lived nearby. "I remember the foreign feller," he said. "He was arguing with someone- a man I think- I don't know he was hidden. But the voice sounded like one of those voice disguisers, you know like on TV? So it could be a woman. Anyway, the other person shoved him inside the warehouse. "

"And you didn't see the other person?" Hamish asked.

The man shook his head. "No, they were all in black, even covered their face. The guy was old, so they didn't have to shove him too far you know?"

"Did you hear anything about what they were saying?" Hamish asked.

The man shook his head. "No, they were arguing in another language I think."

"You can't remember anything?" Hamish asked. "Anything might help."

"I remember the other person saying in English something about the feller deserving this and he agreed. But that's it."

Hamish walked inside the warehouse. He glanced up and down at the walls. The stench of urine and God knew what else was overpowering. He knelt down at the blood that had stained the floor. For all he knew it could have been his fathers'. "Who has access to this warehouse?" Hamish asked the man.

The man shrugged. "I dunno. It used to belong to a shipping company, but it closed down years ago. It's condemned, I think. "

What's the connection? The constable thought to himself. Why did Dad and Mr. Al-Harrad die here? He absently ran his hands along the ground until they touched an object. With shaking hands, Hamish picked up his father's glasses. The constable's eyes filled as he examined the bent pieces and the glass that had long fallen out.

Hamish held onto the glasses as he stepped outside the warehouse. He walked over to his Land Rover and fished out his keys. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw a dark-haired woman in black watching the warehouse. She kept her distance, but Hamish could tell that she was watching him. He walked towards her as a bus pulled by. When the bus roared past, the woman was gone.

The funeral was packed. For such a quiet man, Angus Macbeth had many friends and a large family. Upon Murdo and Malcolm's arrival, the Macbeth siblings had contacted the relatives and their father's and mother's friends. They had also arranged for him to be buried at the local Protestant church in Rogart overlooking a nearby field that grew heather in the spring. (It was meaningful since their father proposed to their mother in a heather field.) Mrs. Macbeth remained calm through most of the visitation, only sobbing when her eldest son gave her husband's glasses. Clearly the grief of losing her husband was wearing on her. Occasionally, Hamish or one of the other siblings would catch her looking around as if she were waiting for their father to appear. She had lost much of the friendly warm charm and enthusiasm that she was known for.

Hamish greeted visitors as they arrived at the church. He embraced his friends from Lochdubh including as promised Doc, the MacRaes, Anderson, Rory Campbell, Esme Maury, The Meldrums, and Isobel.

"I didn't think that you'd come," Hamish said to Isobel.

"Wasn't sure I would either," the small woman said as he hugged her boyfriend. "I just wanted to be here for you and your family."

"I'm glad you did," he said. He impulsively hugged her again but then pulled away. Ever since they lost their baby, they had said plenty of things to each other in anger only to take them back later. Maybe this would be a time to start over, but not now.

Hamish wasn't surprised that either of his ex-girlfriends, Priscilla Halburton-Smythe or Alex McLean hadn't showed up. He had remained on friendly terms with both women, but hadn't seen either in a while. Priscilla had married a public defense attorney and now lived most of the time in London. Alex in particular had a stormy current life. Her father had disowned her after she married "a foreigner" and hadn't returned home in awhile. Nobody even knew where she lived now.

Hamish's friends moved inside the church. The constable glanced at the parking lot as a man and two women approached the church. The man was dark haired and dressed in a fancy black suit. He gave the church a withering glance as he held the younger woman's hand. She was dressed in a plain black dress and her hair was in a ponytail. And older woman stood behind them dressed in a fancy black pantsuit. Her hair was cropped short. "Mr. Macbeth," she said smartly. "You don't know me, but I worked with your father once. My name is Susan McArdle. When we heard, well we felt like we just had to come."

"You felt like you had to come," the young man interrupted her. He had a very posh accent. "I had no intention to come to this hole in the earth." Despite his father's funeral, Hamish had an urge to punch this man.

"It ain't so bad," the younger woman said with a Northern English accent, near Liverpool, Hamish would have guessed. "It's like a lot of the towns I grew up near." Hamish liked her immediately.

"Gabriel, hush," Susan said as though Gabriel were a small child. "Excuse my son's manners. Honestly, I don't know what Nicole-sorry Mr. Macbeth my son, Gabriel and my daughter-in-law, Nicole- sees in you." The younger woman smiled thinly but didn't say anything. "Anyway, your father recommended me for a job when I was younger and I never forgot his kindness. I thought I could repay him."

Hamish nodded. "Of course, you are certainly welcome. He often did things like that for people. Right in there, just sit wherever you want." He watched as the woman walked in. He noticed Gabriel take Nicole's hand but she pushed it away.

The trio no sooner walked into the church when two other strangers arrived. This one was an older gray haired man and a younger muscular blond man. "Mr. Macbeth," the older man said. "I served in the military with your father. My son, Martin, and I would like to pay our respects."

Hamish nodded. The man had a very authoritarian voice and demeanor. "Of course you may – I'm sorry what's your name and rank?"

The man shook his head. "I retired long ago, no need for rank. Brandell's the name, John Brandell." He shook the constable's hand.

"Pleasure," Martin said. He spoke very quietly as though distracted. When he shook Hamish's hand, the constable felt a slight pain as though he held his hand too tightly.

"Pleasure for both of you," Hamish agreed. "You may sit anywhere you like." The father and son walked into the church. Hamish noticed that they made a beeline exactly where Susan, and her son and daughter-in-law were seated. Susan gave the older man a wide berth, but he sat next to her without any comment. When Hamish was sure that there were no more visitors, he shut the door and walked to the front of the church to sit next to his mother and siblings.

The funeral was a moving ceremony, with some doses of humor as friends and family recalled the elder Macbeth's moments. Hamish, Fee, and Murdo spoke on behalf of their father. Malcolm led the congregation on some of their father's favorite folk songs and current favorite songs like "Long Black Train," "The Dance" and some Bob Dylan songs. Robyn and Marcia revealed a collage that they had made of photographs of the area and of the elder Macbeth, which they said will be hung at the local pub.

Hamish stood near his father's grave as the crowd had begun to dissipate. He hugged a few more funeral goers before he sank down to his father's grave. Hamish had so far maintained a strong front through being around his mum, his siblings, and investigating his father's death, but now his emotions were beginning to erupt. Tears began to form in his eyes. He tried to hold them back, but now knew it was useless. He let them fall onto the concrete slab that listed his father's birth and death dates. The constable finally broke down as memories of the good man who taught him to fish, hunt, lectured him when he did wrong, but was never afraid to show his affection filled him. This is one case that I have to solve, he thought. I can't let my final promise to my father end like this.

"Such a large affair for such a quiet man," a familiar booming voice interrupted the constable. Hamish looked up and wiped his eyes. He smiled as he saw his Uncle Lennox!

"Uncle Len," he said clasping his uncle on the shoulder. "We called you but-"

"- Aye, I understand laddie," Lennox Macbeth said warmly, but sadly. "There probably wasn't much thought that I would attend." The white haired man was dressed in his customary black. He always looked to Hamish like someone who would be at home carrying a sword.

"I'm sorry, Uncle," Hamish said trying to wipe his tears.

Lennox nodded. "Just compose yourself, Hamish, however long it takes."

While the uncle and nephew were talking, the other siblings looked in surprise. Murdo and Malcolm exchanged wary glances. Fee's mouth dropped open as she talked to some of her friends. Alec played with Murron and Joe Jr. to distract them sometimes hitting Lennox with a confused stare.

"Who's that?" Marcia asked her life partner as she glanced at the older man in surprise.

"Family recluse," Robyn answered. "Hamish invited him, but I didn't think that he would come. I'd only seen him once or twice." Lennox was actually a distant cousin of their father's, so he said, but the children always referred to him as Uncle Lennox or Uncle Len. A university professor in New York, Lennox hadn't appeared for many family gatherings. Once their father explained that after Len had lost his wife and son a long time ago, he felt it hard to visit Scotland. But he sometimes visited. Hamish and his brother, Ian, often listened to his tales of battles, warriors, magic, particularly his stories of gargoyles. But his visits became fewer and fewer, in fact the younger siblings barely knew him. Funny, Hamish thought, Uncle Len had always seemed the same age however many years I knew him.

"I never got on with your father, "Lennox began. "There were many things that we disagreed about. But under the circumstances-"

"-I understand," Hamish said. "Actually I'm glad you're here." He left the rest of his sentence hanging in the air.

"Is there something else that you want to ask me?" Lennox asked.

Hamish looked down. His uncle had a tendency to know exactly what his younger relatives were doing. He said it came from practice from being around for so long it was easy to call someone's bluff.

Hamish sighed. He knew with Uncle Len, it was better to get to the point. "You were close to Ian when he was living here. I don't think that there was anyone he confided in more, I mean except me of course."

"Aye," Macbeth said to his nephew his eyebrow raised in suspicion.

"I just figured, if you know where he is then you could tell him about Dad. I want to but I don't have any way of reaching him."

Lennox sighed. "Hamish, we have been over this. Even if I knew how to reach your brother, I wouldn't. "

"But he is out there," Hamish said. "We don't have any proof that he died. He could be out there somewhere and I would think that he has the right to know that his father is dead."

"Hamish," Lennox held up his hand as though the constable were a disobedient child. "What did your father always tell you about Ian?"

"But-" Hamish interrupted.

"-Hamish," Lennox warned.

Hamish sighed. "That he was dead to us and never to look for him."

Lennox Macbeth nodded. "Right, don't you think that you should honor your father's wishes on this matter?"

Hamish looked down at his scuffed shoes and nodded as Lennox continued. "Believe me, lad, I know how you feel. But what happened with Ian hurt your father more than he cared to admit. But sometimes the past is better left alone."

"You're right, Uncle Len," Hamish said. Privately, he hoped that if he ever did see Ian again that he would tell him himself.

Hamish staggered into his mother's house. The funeral and the encounters with his friends and family, particularly Uncle Lennox drained him. He felt like he couldn't get ahead no matter what he did. He took out a pad of paper and wrote the names Angus Macbeth and Ben Al-Harrad on paper. What did these two men have in common and who could have killed them? The phone's ring broke him out of his thoughts. He walked over to the phone and answered. "Hello?" he asked.

"Macbeth did you receive my notice?" an unrecognizable voice asked. Hamish gulped. He didn't recognize the person, but he knew it had to be the man who sent him the note.

"Yes, I found Ben Al-Harrad," Hamish replied. "Who did this? You know!"

"That's too easy," the voice said. "The dead no longer matter-"

"-What do you mean one of them was my father!" Hamish said.

"-And Al-Harrad was also someone's father, your point being?" the voice corrected sharply. "-Do you want to protect the living or not?"

"Yes," Hamish said. "There will be more?"

"The next will come in threes, look for someone that you didn't recognize at the funeral," Lennox said.

"You can protect them, especially her. She will be next."

Hamish thought. "Either Susan or Nicole McArdle isn't it?" he said aloud. They seemed suspicious to him.

"That's all I will give you," the voice answered. "Just do what I tell you." The phone call ended with a dull tone.

David Russell ended the call then removed the scrambler from the phone so that no one could spy on him or trace the call. So far, Hamish was doing exactly what he told him. He knew that the constable would need some assistance to get moving, but he will do fine on his own. The agent looked to make sure that he wasn't watched. So far, he was alone in this but that didn't mean that he wasn't being trailed and in this day and age of TIA, they could trail him without physically following him. He lowered his head and walked making sure that he didn't make eye contact with anyone. The best cover was to look like someone who was despondent. Occasionally, he let out a "how dare those bastards fire me?" to an onlooker. It wasn't a good cover, but it was enough for now.

"I suppose you think you are pretty clever, eh, Ian?" a familiar brogue asked. David sighed and turned around.

"Hello Lennox," he said to his uncle. Well many times great-grandfather, technically.


	2. Behind These Empty Walls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Russell and Lennox spend some "quality time" together. More bodies are found and Hamish has to research the past by interrogating the last person that he wanted to.

“David Russell, if you were my son I would have had you flogged a long time ago,” Macbeth snapped at his descendant as the two stood in one of Russell’s many hideouts around Britain.  
“I don’t think that they flog people that much these days, Len,” Russell sarcastically smirked returning to his computer.  


The two stood in an abandoned flat that looked like it was frequented by rodents and squatters. Macbeth remained standing as Russell fiddled with the electronic equipment. “It’s not as nice as my place in London,” Russell said cheekily. “That one’s my favorite.” Macbeth glowered not even wanting to imagine what the boy’s home in London looked like. He had turned down his descendant’s offer to be blindfolded saying “What could they do to me if I were caught?” Now he wished that he had been blindfolded so he wouldn’t have to see this eyesore of a flat. “I take it you heard about your father’s death, but are not here to offer any sort of sympathies to your family.” This was not a question.  
Russell turned from the computer to the elderly man. “You know what amazes me is after 1,000 years, your faculties are as sharp as ever!” he snapped.  
Lennox’s face reddened in the classic Macbeth temper, “Your brother was out of his mind when you left-“He began.  
“Not entirely by my choice, if you remember,” the younger man answered. “Anyway, it’s in the past. That doesn’t concern me any longer.”  
“So why are you here if it doesn’t ‘concern you’ any longer,” Macbeth answered sarcastically. He remembered people often said that no one could do sarcasm better than a Macbeth. Looking at young Ian, Lennox believed it. He knew the answer. “You know who killed your father and you want to tell Hamish.”  
“No,” Russell shook his head. “I know who may have killed Angus Macbeth and Ben Al-Harrad. If I’m right about the who, then it personally concerns me.”  
“If this is in your field, then why get Hamish involved at all,” Lennox asked. “After all this seems more like your area than his.”  
“Because Lennox, first I have no proof and Hamish can find out what I can’t,” Russell said. “Second, because Hamish may be sillier, lazier, and more naïve than anyone I can see, but by God, there is no better police officer than he is. He will find out.”  
“And you are not at all concerned with whether this person could attack Hamish,” Lennox pointed out.  
“Hamish is a big boy,” Russell said with disdain. “He will manage.”  
Lennox shook his head at the younger man’s backhanded compliment about his twin brother. “Your family has a right to-“  
“-My family has a right!” Russell said approaching his ancestor. “My family has no right to see me or know me! I have made peace with it long ago! The only peace that I can give them is that they will never have to suffer because of something I did and no one ever holds them hostage out of revenge because of someone I killed! Da- Angus cut me out of their lives for a reason and I am staying out of their lives for a different fucking reason!”  
When Macbeth wouldn’t speak, his great-grandson continued. “If you are so concerned with family honesty how come you never told anyone how old you really are? How come you never told Ham that you are our great- great- my God we will be here all day if I listed all the greats-grandfather,” When Macbeth wouldn’t answer, Russell continued. “Of course, we supply you with funding and the latest technology to continue your precious ‘hunting expeditions’, so you keep quiet. How come Angus never came clean with what he did to make sure that his family slept soundly and didn’t have to worry about the ‘Big Scary Communists?’ That’s right; he didn’t want his other children to find out what I did, so he let it eat away inside him! Remember one thing; I’m not the only member of this family keeping secrets! I’m just the only one who can live with them!”  
Macbeth’s face became pale and he sagged realizing he couldn’t argue with the truth of Russell’s words. He sighed. Sometimes it was easier hunting and fighting with gargoyles, than it was dealing with his quarrelsome and stubborn descendants. “It’s a dangerous game for Hamish, and for you, Ian.” Lennox said.  
Russell turned back to the computer as if to say that the conversation was over. “I know what I’m doing, Len,” he said with a touch of the old Ian Macbeth defiance and hidden kindness. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”  
Macbeth shook his head. Then, he turned away. “No, Ian, I’m frightened enough for both of you.”  
*****  
Hamish waited inside the pub near a hotel that he found Susan McArdle was staying. He kept his eyes on the crowd for her as he sipped the whiskey. Mostly, the clientele consisted of residents eating dinner, playing darts, and laughing uproroariously. Hamish smiled. This pub was larger than the one by the Lochdubh Hotel. In fact most of the patrons didn’t seem to know each other, or the pub tender. The constable ignored the loud voices of three young intoxicated men behind him and kept an eye on the door as Susan McArdle walked inside.  
Hamish was about to approach the woman, when he saw John Brandell approach her. Susan gave him the same dirty look that she fixed him at the funeral, but said nothing as Brandell grabbed her arm. Hamish watched and casually walked up to them trying to not to be seen. He took note that Brandell whispered something to McArdle. She shook her head fiercely, but then covered her mouth in shock. Hamish seized his opportunity. “Hello Mr. Brandell; Mrs. McArdle, can I buy either of you a drink?”  
Brandell jumped in surprise then looked at Hamish as though he had seen a ghost. “Ru- uh, Constable Macbeth, umm no thank you. I must be off. It was a pleasure seeing you again; McArdle.” He left off.  
“He seemed nervous,” McArdle said dryly. As do you, Hamish thought, but he chose not to say anything. “I will take you up on that offer of a drink, though.”  
Hamish led her into the pub and ordered a second whiskey for himself and one for Susan. “Mrs. McArdle-“  
“-First, constable, it’s Ms. McArdle, I have been divorced for a long time,” she laughed. “Second, call me Susan. I may be old enough to be your mum, but I don’t feel like it.”  
She and Hamish laughed. “Then I extend the courtesy. You can call me Hamish, if you like. Susan, you knew my father. What job did he recommend you for?”  
This time Susan looked bitter. “Are you accusing me of-“  
Hamish shook his head. “Oh, no, nothing like that!” Privately he wondered if he was accusing her of such a thing. She seemed to have jumped to that conclusion rather quickly. “I was just asking a few questions about my father’s death. I was just curious.”  
“I see,” Susan smiled. “Well, I was in the military doing mostly background stuff, technical support. I wanted to go on missions, Cold War things, you know taking care of the Soviets that sort of thing. But not too many men would allow it. They didn’t take me seriously, but your father, he did. He recognized my intelligence and abilities. He convinced them to make an exception for me. He had a talent for recognizing a person’s true potential and what they were capable of.”  
“Aye, he did,” Hamish nodded, but then cleared his throat. “You’re the second person to know my Dad from the military. Funny thing he wasn’t in there very long. He said that he only stayed there for less than two years, had an unmemorable record, and went home. “  
Susan shook her head, in an almost nostalgic manner as if to say how typical it was of Angus. “Really, who was the first?”  
“John Brandell,” Hamish said. “You spoke to him just there. Did you two work together as well?”  
No,” McArdle replied. “It was a big regiment. Actually, he was apologizing to me about last night. Before the funeral, we met at the same hotel. He got a little intoxicated and behaved rather forward with me. That’s all.”  
Macbeth looked squarely at the other woman. It was clear that she was good at deception, but he was just as good at catching it. He could tell that Susan was lying. Susan glanced at her watch. “Oh no,” she said. “I have to leave. Thank you for the drink, Hamish.”  
“Just a minute,” Hamish said. “Did you know a man named Ben Al-Harrad?”  
“Yes, he was an interpreter of ours,” she said.  
“Did you know he died two weeks ago?” Hamish asked.  
“Yes I heard. I remained on good terms with Tania, his widow and she told me. What a tragedy,” she said. “I hadn’t seen him in over 40 years, but he was a good man. It was terrible.” She glanced again at her watch. “Now, I really must go.” She left the pub, before Hamish could say another word.  
Hamish followed her, but only got as far as the corner of the pub before the older woman disappeared into a crowd of tourists. The constable leaned against the pub’s wall, when a loud voice broke into his thoughts. “I’m tired of you always criticizing me!” Hamish looked up to see Nicole McArdle yelling at her husband.  
“Well if you can’t behave with propriety, what else am I supposed to do?” Gabriel retorted.  
“Maybe you could find a classy woman to do that for you,” Nicole stormed.  
“Maybe, I should,” Gabriel said then he stormed off in a huff.  
Nicole sighed and leaned against the pub. She took out a cigarette. Hamish casually walked up to her. “Am I interrupting anything?”  
Nicole jumped in surprise. “Constable Macbeth, you startled me!”  
“I have that affect on a lot of people, lately,” Hamish quipped as he took out his lighter and lit her cigarette as well as lit one for himself. “Please call me Hamish.”  
“No,” Nicole said bitterly. “I was just arguing with my husband. I can do that anytime.”  
“If you will excuse me, he seems like a piece of work,” Hamish remarked.  
Nicole bristled. “Believe me, I know. Hard to believe I was ever in love with him.”  
“How did you two meet?” Hamish inquired.  
“My mum worked for his dad,” Nicole said. “He was her driver.”  
Another set of parents working together interesting, Hamish thought. “What happened to your dad?”  
“He died 8 years ago of leukemia.” She said, but then thought. “Oh, I’m sorry.”  
Hamish shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. We just have something in common that’s all.”  
Nicole nodded. “Where was I? Oh yes, me and Gabriel.” When she said, “Gabriel” Hamish noticed that Nicole had an elevated tone of voice, like she was covering up an upper class accent for a working class one. As if realizing this, Nicole’s Liverpudlian accent grew thicker, the next time she spoke. “We grew up together and fell in love when we became teenagers. He wasn’t a total snob like his Dad, ya know. In fact, he wanted to be the exact opposite of him, get involved in charities, that sort of thing. In the end he turned into his father’s own image.”  
“I’m sorry,” Hamish said.  
The two smoked long drags in silence, when Hamish spoke again. “Are you and your mother-in-law close?” he asked.  
Nicole nodded. “My own mum walked out on us when I was five, so she was like a second mother to me, why?”  
“Well, did she speak of any enemies or talk about her days in the military?” he asked as gingerly as he could manage.  
“Mostly, she just said that she had to do some hard things to prove herself, but she did them anyway,” She said. “Funny, you should mention enemies, because she argued with someone on the phone about a week before she heard that your father died.”  
“What happened?” Hamish asked.  
“I don’t know,” Nicole said. “She was arguing with someone on the phone. I couldn’t tell who it was and she wouldn’t tell me, but they were arguing in another language, Russian I think. Unfortunately, my Russian is rusty and I didn’t understand what they were saying. My dad worked in the Middle East and Southern Asia for some time and he taught me Arabic and Farsi, much better in those languages, I am. Anyway, she was arguing with him and kept saying “Nyet,” which means “No.” “  
“How do you know it was a man that she was arguing with?” Hamish inquired.  
“Because after she hung up the phone, she muttered ‘damn bastard’ under her breath,” Nicole quipped. “You don’t usually say that about a woman.”  
Hamish was about to ask something else when he heard another voice behind him. “Slumming dear?” Gabriel asked snidely.  
Nicole’s face reddened as she glared at her husband. “What do you care?” She snapped, and then stormed off.  
Gabriel watched her go. “Trouble in your marriage?” Hamish dryly asked.  
“None that concern you,” Gabriel snapped as he followed his wife.  
******  
Hamish turned off the headlights to the Land Rover as he watched Susan’s hotel room. So far there was no action, but he continued to sip the energy drink with a bad taste in his mouth. He normally hated these things, but they were best at keeping him awake while he continued his stakeout.  
He grinned as he imagine what he would tell Anderson when he found out that he went on stakeout without him. Though Jim Anderson filled the position left over from the late TV John McIver, Anderson often responded to Lochdubh’s slow pace like a fish on dry land. A city boy in exile because of his dismissal from DI Bruce, Anderson was often at odds with Lochdubh’s rural atmosphere and often told Macbeth how “real” police officers handled cases. He just knew that Anderson would be upset that he missed his chance to conduct a stakeout.  
Truth be told, Hamish didn’t know why he was watching Susan anyway, but his informant’s tip on how the next person was someone at the funeral and that it was a woman was all he had to go on.  
This is ridiculous, Hamish thought to himself. Following the instructions of someone, I can’t see and can barely contact. How do I know that he didn’t do it? Then his more rational side argued. If he did it, why would he tell me how he did it and who the next victim was? Maybe he wants to throw me off the trail. I wish something would just hurry up and happen.  
A loud shriek broke from Hamish’s thoughts. He saw a woman running out of a nearby ally and towards the main road. Be careful what I wish for, he thought as he doused his cigarette and revved the engine. Hamish followed the retreating woman as well as he could in the Land Rover. He could see by the smaller frame and the dark ponytail that bounced as she ran that it was Nicole, not Susan, McArdle that was in danger! What did I expect, Hamish thought, My informant just said that “she” would be next. He didn’t say which she it was.”  
Hamish continued to follow in the Rover, until Nicole ducked behind an ally. Instead, Hamish stopped the car and followed on foot. “Wait,” he called. He ran into the alley and saw no one else, but a woman lying on the ground. Hamish ran up to see Nicole lying as blood spilled from behind her head. “No, not me Sam,” she mumbled. “In there-“she pointed towards the building in front of her, and then passed out.  
“What happened?” Gabriel’s voice broke into Hamish’s thoughts. He looked up and saw the well-dressed man standing over them. He looked broken and more shattered than he had last seen him. “Oh Nic, how?” Just as earlier with Nicole’s voice, Hamish noticed that Gabriel dropped his original accent briefly, this time briefly for a Cockney one. “I mean, what happened?” He asked reverting to his normal voice. As he was speaking, Martin Brandell arrived dressed in a blue track suit.  
“I don’t know,” Hamish said. “I just found her this way. If either of you have a mobile, you best call the police.” Gabriel nodded and flipped it on, before Hamish even said so.  
Martin knelt down next to the young woman. “Allow me, I’m a paramedic,” he said. He held open Nicole’s mouth and began to breathe into it lightly pumping her stomach. “Just hope that she can hold out until the ambulance arrives.” He whispered harshly.  
Within a few seconds, police and an ambulance arrived. The paramedics arrived and placed Nicole on a stretcher as Martin gave reports about her stability. He offered to go with the ambulance as Gabriel and Hamish answered questions from the police. After Hamish finished his statement, he headed towards the building that Nicole pointed towards. Somehow, he wasn’t surprised to find that it was the same building that his father and Ben Al-Harrad were found.  
“Macbeth where are you going?” DI Henderson asked as Hamish walked closer to the warehouse and tried to open the rusted door.  
“She pointed over here,” Hamish explained. “I think she saw something!”  
Hamish opened the door and pointed to the floor. He gasped and said. “There!” The police officers looked to where Hamish pointed. Susan stared at them with eyes that would never see anything again.  
Henderson and Gillis stared just as jaded as Hamish. Gabriel, however, turned his head sickened by the sight. Despite the gravity, Hamish couldn’t resist a jibe at the detective inspector. “Still think it’s a robbery or a hate crime?”  
Henderson didn’t listen as he told his sergeants to take the dead woman’s body. He turned to Hamish and Gabriel. “Are there any relatives that we can contact for her?”  
Gabriel shook his head. “No, she didn’t have a family.”  
Hamish looked at the younger man in surprise. “Except you of course.”  
“Oh of course,” Gabriel started as though he were caught in a lie. “Of course, naturally except for me. I meant no one else.”  
Hamish rolled his eyes as the police officers continued to investigate and question Gabriel. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone watch them. He turned to the street beyond the alley and saw a woman with long dark hair dressed in an all-black outfit watching the events. She continued to look until she realized that Hamish’s eyes were on her. She ran into the shadows and disappeared into the night.  
******  
The next night, Hamish couldn’t find any more answers than he had before. Nicole was alive, but in critical condition in the hospital. He couldn’t find Martin or John Brandell. Gabriel gave him barely any information and Susan’s autopsy showed the same as Al-Harrad’s and his father’s. He knew that Susan McArdle, Al-Harrad, and his father were in the military and he would bet his meager savings that despite Susan’s claim, that Brandell was affiliated with them as well. He couldn’t find answers in the present, maybe he could ask about the past. He opened the door to his mother’s house slowly contemplating his next move no matter how it led; he knew that he had to interrogate his mother.  
He listened to his siblings laugh and talk loudly sitting at the table and the threadbare sofa. They chattered at once peering through photo albums, talking through childhood memories, and most of all keeping the rest of the family up-to-date with current events. Fee told the others about her latest communications with Joe and passed the sonogram pictures along. Robyn spoke about a recent exhibit that she and Marcia had been a part of and a group that they had joined called Magna Carta, which fought for individual rights of British citizens (which resulted in a slight argument between Murdo and herself). Alec kept his eyes mostly on the PSP that he got for his birthday but also grudgingly mentioned a fight that he was involved in defending Murron. Murron sat on the floor playing a game with Joe Jr.  
Malcolm gave the siblings the biggest laugh as he mentioned Nadir Al-Fulani a woman that he fell in love with in Afghanistan. “She’s beautiful, sweet, charming, and brilliant, laughs at my jokes and loves the wee ones. When they wouldn’t take the hepatitis injections that we gave them, she jabbed herself to show them it was safe,” the tall man sighed like a young teenager. “She’s a pure goddess.”  
“What does she see in you, then,” Alec quipped earning a slight rap behind the ear from his older brother and a chorus of laughter from his other siblings, nephew, and sister-in-law.  
Hamish smiled at the raucous, but loving scene. He didn’t offer any updates or mention anything else beyond the indulgent chuckle or non-committed “yes.” But he just enjoyed his immediate family have a loving joyous time, so soon after tragedy.  
At least most of them were. Murdo kept mostly his eyes on his laptop frantically typing keys and muttering to himself. Except for his argument with Robyn, he didn’t say anything else. He rubbed his forehead fiercely and his normally tucked in hair was askew. He seemed distracted and frustrated about something. Hamish vowed that he would talk to his younger brother later.  
Hamish leaned against the front wall glancing upwards to his mother’s room. He sighed. It’s now or never, he thought, forgive me, Dad, if I upset her. He trudged slowly upstairs to do his police officer’s duty.  
Hamish leaned against his mother’s bedroom door and lit a cigarette. “Hamish, are you smoking dear?” his mother’s voice called through the door.  
“No mum,” the constable said.  
“I can smell it,” she answered.  
“I’m putting it out, mum,” Hamish said sheepishly as he threw the cigarette on the ground and stomped it out with his heavy boots. He then lightly knocked on the door and she told him to enter.  
The room was emptier than Hamish had seen it in a long time. His father’s clothes had been removed and all of his personal items were gone, either donated or moved out of sight. His mother lay on her bed. Her normally ruddy cheeks were pale and ashen. She tried to regain her smile, but it dropped. She still retained her anxious and worried look. Hamish wondered if she would always have that.  
Hamish sat on a small chair next to her bed. He opened his mouth to speak, but a loud laugh from the siblings downstairs broke through the silence.  
“They are making a lot of noise down there,” Mrs. Macbeth said.  
“I can tell them to keep it down if you like,” Hamish suggested.  
His mother shook her head. “No, it’s nice, I like hearing laughter again.”  
Hamish nodded. He held his breath and took the plunge. “Mum, there is so much about Dad that I didn’t know. In some ways, we were very close and in others he was a complete mystery.”  
“Many men of his generation often were,” she agreed. “But what he couldn’t say, I knew. He loved each and every one of you, and I mean all of you.”  
Hamish smiled. He knew who she was talking about. “Was there anything that Dad regretted, that he never got the chance to do?”  
Aileen nodded. “Your father always regretted that he couldn’t restore ties with Ia- certain people.”  
Hamish smiled. “It’s just you and me, mum. We can talk about Ian if you want.” Ian had long been a forbidden topic, a ghost that everyone in the Macbeth family knew about, but no one mentioned, a memory that made the family so guilty that they moved from Lochdubh to Glasgow to escape the painful memory of losing a son and brother in a familiar place.  
His mum sighed. “Sometimes, I picture that he is somewhere in a job that he loves with a family and maybe once in awhile we are a happy memory for him, a pleasant dream that he holds dear to himself when things get hard for him.”  
“I think that too sometimes mum,” Hamish agreed. “Was there anything else?”  
“There were a few things that he never talked about and I never pressured him to,” Aileen said. “I remember early into our marriage, right when you were born, there were a lot of problems between us.”  
“Like what?” Hamish asked.  
She hesitated. “Well he had some very painful nightmares and memories, I think they were of his time in the military, but at the time I had my own problems. Remember, that was when I had been given my medicine.”  
Hamish barely remembered, but his mother later told him that she had been given Valium and had stopped when he and Ian were six. All he remembered was her taking a lot of pills and crying when she was without them. “But there were times, when your father was angry and muttered to himself or when he would look at the two of you with such an expression that it would make your heart break. There was one time, I remember he was watching television and he gave such a loud cry of anger and wept like a babe.”  
“What was on the telly, mum?” Hamish asked.  
“It was something about children in Eastern Europe or somewhere and how they were Communists or some such, I don’t recall,” Aileen said. Her voice got more halted and Hamish noticed that her breath was getting very quick. He handed her a glass of water. “Thank you dear, anyway, all I remember was him standing up and shouting. “They are liars, all liars, what we did was far worse!’ He ranted and swore, but I reminded him that you and Ian were in the room and you both looked at him with such fear, that he stopped.”  
His mother began to cry as she gulped the water down, Hamish held her by the shoulders. “Your father was a good man, Hamish,” she begged. “He didn’t mean to do what he did.”  
“What mum?” Hamish asked.  
Fee knocked on the door and walked into her mother’s room. “Mum, I was wondering if you wanted some tea.” She glanced from her mother to her brother. “What are you doing Hamish?”  
“Your father didn’t mean it, that man stirred things,” as their mother spoke, her voice became more frantic.  
“What man, mum?” Hamish asked.  
“Hamish leave her alone,” Fee yelled and ran to her mother’s side and pulled her from her brother’s arms.  
“-the man on the phone,” she said. “He stirred things up with him-“  
“What kind of things?” Hamish said.  
“THAT IS ENOUGH!” Fee commanded. Both her mother and her brother glanced at her. “Mum, you need to rest. Hamish, you know what state she’s in.”  
“Really, I had no idea?” Hamish said sarcastically.  
“What’s going on?” Malcolm asked. Hamish and Fee turned around to see Malcolm, Robey, Marcia, and Alec standing outside the room with concerned expressions on their face.  
“Nothing,” Fee remarked. “Where are the children?”  
“They’re downstairs,” Marcia replied. “Murdo’s watching them.”  
“Which of course means Murdo’s watching his computer and the others just happen to be with him,” Robey quipped. Despite the tense situation, the siblings and their mother offered a few amused smiles at the comment.  
“I will get you your tea, Mum,” Fee said. She then glared at her brother. “Don’t ever talk to our mother that way, Hamish. You shouldn’t stir up feelings like that!”  
“Well, I’m sorry, Fee,” Hamish said. “But if any of you want to find out who killed Dad, then I’m going to have to!” He wanted to say more, but instead he stomped downstairs and shut the front door.  
Wee Jock followed his master as they stood outside the house in the clear night. Hamish sighed as he lit his cigarette and rubbed Jock on the stomach. He now was certain that whatever happened in the past involved his father’s military career. He didn’t yet know what, or why it took so long for anyone to take notice. Plus, there were many other pieces to the puzzle that just didn’t fit. The way he behaved towards his mother filled his stomach with guilt. He never talked to her like that, before and he shouldn’t have asked her any questions about Dad. But then wasn’t he helping his father? He grinned and said to his dog, “The 5th commandment says to honor they father and mother, but are you supposed to choose to honor one over another?” He took out a piece of paper and wrote a message to the person that he somehow knew was listening and understood his confusion. He wrote, “You know,” then hid the paper in his mother’s garden under a rock.  
“I thought I was the only one who wanted to come out for a smoke,” Murdo’s voice made Hamish jump with surprise. Murdo stood outside with an unlit cigarette. Hamish politely offered his lighter.  
“I thought you quit smoking,” Hamish replied. Murdo quit years ago and was one of those sorts that irritated his smoking friends and family, particularly Hamish and Robey with statistics about the amount of people who died from lung cancer, emphysema, and the like.  
“I started again when I began working for Inquirendo,” the young researcher/analyst replied. His eyes showed a weariness that his older brother was sensitive to.  
“You hate working there, yeah?” Hamish asked touching his brother by the shoulder.  
Murdo shrugged. “I hate certain aspects of it. I hate trying to please my superiors who are never satisfied. I hate having to re-do findings that I know are right, but they want them fudged in their favor. I hate no matter what I do, I will always be considered the dumb Highlander who got where he was on a scholarship.”  
“Well, if you hate it that much, why don’t you quit?” Hamish asked. “There is much more you can do.”  
Murdo smiled bitterly. “In case you haven’t missed it, Ham. No one is any position to quit any sort of job. I should be lucky to have one,” he glanced at his cigarette for a long time. “Hamish, have you ever been asked to do something that you were against?”  
Hamish nodded. “Yes, many times,” he replied. Just now in fact, he thought regretfully.  
“Well, what did you do, I mean rhetorically of course,” Murdo said. “You know, not based on a real situation.”  
“I know what rhetorical means, Murdo,” Hamish said dryly. Then he thought. “Well sometimes I would think what the consequences are. Would it be worth hurting somebody and could I live with myself later.”  
Murdo nodded. “Thank you, Hamish,” he put out his cigarette and turned back to the house.  
“Murdo,” Hamish said. “I also wouldn’t be in such a rush to be like these people that I would forget where I come from. I know where I stand, and so do you, rhetorically speaking of course.”  
Murdo smiled. “Thanks, Hamish.” He walked back inside as Hamish and Jock followed later.  
*****  
A sharp sound broke Hamish out of his sleep. He opened his eyes unsure of whether he really heard it. It sounded like something tapping lightly on the window. He closed his eyes and turned back to sleep. After a few seconds he heard the tap again, this time louder and more impatient. Hamish slowly rose from his bed and warily approached the window as a rock tapped against the window a third time. This time the noise was fierce as if to say “WAKE UP STUPID!” Hamish leapt out of bed and approached the window. He couldn’t see anyone outside, but he wasn’t convinced. He threw on a pair of jeans, a red sweater, and picked up an old knife and headed outside.  
“Hello is anyone out there?” he asked. He looked around, but couldn’t hear or see anyone. He glanced down where he put the letter earlier. He saw a small manila envelope in its place. Keeping his peripheral vision in front of him in case of any approaching stalkers, he quickly opened the envelope and read the small typed note:  
Macbeth,  
I left something lyin’ for you in the Lochdubh police station near your least favorite toy.  
Hamish considered. He wondered what his informant had in mind this time. He walked back into the house, scrawled his family a quick note then called for Jock. “Want to go home boy?” The Westie’s bark was the only answer that Hamish needed as he led him outside into the Land Rover.  
Hamish drove in the early morning. The dark sky was already lighting in the horizon in anticipation of approaching daylight. Hamish felt his eyes droop as he drove in the early morning. To keep his mind on the road, and his body from falling to sleep, Hamish turned the radio to a country music station and turned the sound up loud. He sang along with a Garth Brooks song, as he glanced at an approaching car through his rearview mirror. He slowed his pace down to let the car pass, but the car instead followed him. “What the-?” Hamish said. “Alright, let’s try this for a spell.” He then slightly accelerated the Land Rover’s pace, but was surprised to note the car also sped up behind him. The two cars played a continuous game of speeding up and slowing down, until Hamish got bored with it.  
“Hey, wait a minute,” Hamish said. “I’m the police officer, here! I’m supposed to be chasing you not you chasing me!” He leaned over and grabbed his police siren and put it on top of the Land Rover. He then swerved into a small road. During the turn, Wee Jock woke up from his sleep and barked at his owner’s police chase. “It’s alright, boy,” Hamish reassured his dog. “Dad’s just chasing some blasted idjit.”  
He tried to turn around, but the vehicle veered closer to Hamish blocking the constable’s ability to turn. Hamish moved his rear view mirror to glance at the license plate. From behind him he saw a flashing light and heard a loud bang. He felt something push him forward and then he saw nothing, but darkness.


	3. Swimming Through the Ashes of Another Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hamish receives a warning from beyond, and further clues about his informant.He also finds out about his father's involvement in a secret and destructive mission and meets a mysterious woman who knows a lot more about the past.

Chapter Three: Swimming Through the Ashes of Another Life

" _Hamish, Hamish," a soft familiar voice called. Hamish glanced across from the desk to see his partner, TV John McIver looking at him with an expression of bewilderment and concern, that could only mean one thing: he had a vision. The constable looked around. The station was practically bathed in an ethereal light._

" _How did I get here?" Hamish asked. He was sitting in the Lochdubh station but he couldn't remember how he got there or where he was the night before. What happened the night before?_

" _You've always been here," John said. Wee Jock barked at his friend's feet. Hamish leaned over to rub his beloved Westie's tummy, but the dog pulled away. Something didn't feel right. "Hamish, I had a vision."_

" _I guessed that," Hamish said dryly._

" _I saw that you were with a shadow," John said. "But the shadow had a face. Sometimes the shadow followed you and sometimes you followed it. I saw it lead you down a dark path of confusion, death, mistakes that were passed from parents to children. Do you want to follow that path?"_

 _Hamish felt a chill as the wind ripped through the police station. He reached over to close the window and saw Jock sleeping in his bed. Shocked, Hamish turned to the dog at his friend's feet: He realized it was Wee Jock I, his dog that died in a car accident. Was John sending him a message from beyond?_

 _Hamish leaned closer as the ethereal light shifted into a darker gray hue. The constable felt a chill as he remembered what he was doing here. "I have to," Hamish said. "I have to find out what the truth is."_

 _John looked at his friend sorrowfully as he held him by the shoulder and glanced at him with sorrow and regret. "Then so be it, Hamish."_

"Hamish," the constable slowly opened his eyes to see Jim Anderson glance at him in surprise. The police officer ran to the doorway calling "He's awake!"

"Wha-?" Hamish said as Doc, Isobel, and Murdo ran into the small hospital room. "Where am I?"

"Lie down," the doctor replied inspecting his friend. "You're in a hospital in Inverness. You were in a car accident."

Hamish winced and tried to remember. He recalled the car following him, the gunshot, and the impact. "I was being followed-"he winced as he lurched forward. He fell back in pain.

"Didn't I tell you to lie down," Doc Brown dryly replied. "You injured your back and shoulders in the impact. You're lucky it could have been worse. "

Hamish nodded but then remembered. "Jock, he was with me-Is he alright?"

"He's fine," Isobel said. "He just injured his foot slightly and he's limping, but he'll be fine."

"It could have been a lot worse," Anderson agreed. "In fact, as late as it was, it may have been morning before anyone found you. It's a good thing you had the foresight to call it in, before you went cold. We called the chopper and you got sent to the hospital. "

"I called it in?" Hamish said. "I don't remember doing that."

"Well it was either you or a comedian who does a great impression of you," Anderson said dryly. "And since you're not famous enough to have Rory Bremer to imitate you, I assume it was the former. You sounded delirious and confused, but it was you all the same."

Hamish held onto his throbbing forehead. "I must have been more out than I thought." A minor sprout of a thought entered his mind upon Anderson's words. Right now his brain was too groggy to think of it, but he would figure it out later.

Murdo nodded picking up the story from Anderson. "Sergeant Anderson called us at home. Don't worry, we didn't tell Mum. I am on my way back to Edinburgh and I had the faster car, so I decided to see how you were doing and call the others."

"Duty calls," Hamish asked his younger brother.

"Something like that," Murdo answered. He turned to the others. "In fact, I have to call the others to let them know. Would anyone like to borrow my mobile?"

"I will," Anderson replied. "I promised I would let the word out to the locals." Murdo nodded his acceptance and followed the officer. Hamish barely heard Doc encouraging Isobel to give Hamish some rest. His thoughts were too confused to give any real comfort. His body would be resting, he knew but it was his mind that was troubling him now.

Two days later, Hamish checked himself out of the hospital. He picked Jock up from Isobel's house and retreated to the police station to do some serious thinking. He recalled certain details of that night. The van approaching him… the headlights veered towards him….and the gunshot. If the person, was shooting at Hamish then why didn't they reach their target? When Anderson returned to the sight of the accident, the Land Rover had a fragmented shot bullet on the windscreen as though it missed the target, but the other car was missing. Did his attempted assassin miss? Where did the other van go, wouldn't it have been totaled as well or did the assassin drive away? He recalled the way that the driver behind him lurched forward. Hamish was pretty certain that the assassin wasn't going to be driving anywhere soon. How did that happen?

Hamish's back and shoulders throbbed with pain. He popped a painkiller in his mouth as the scene played out in his mind. He remembered the flash and the sound from the driver's gun, then the driver lurched forward as if they had a heart attack or-. Hamish slapped his forehead! Maybe someone else shot the driver and caused them to miss him! But who was his rescuer that night? His informant? One of the other suspects? Anderson told him that he called the police to report his accident, but he didn't remember doing that. Was that his rescuer as well?

He flipped on the recording on the police radio. They kept audio records in case they needed them. This was a good time to use it. Hamish listened:

H.M _.: Anderson! I've been in an accident!_

 _J.A.: Hamish, its three o'clock in the morning. Where are you?_

 _H.M.: I'm- (_ The conversation was garbled. Hamish couldn't understand _), fuck, just get out here! (_ He heard a distant sound like barking. Hamish figured that was Jock _). Shut up, I'm near Fingal's Pass. The car fell in the ditch right outside!_ (There was deep breathing and a grunt in pain _)…just get here please!_

 _J.A.: Okay, is anyone with you? Are you hurt?_

 _H.M.: No…I'm sitting in a wrecked car and calling you late at night, but I'm not hurt!_

 _J.A.: There's no need for sarcasm._

 _H.M.: (_ There was a long pause _)….Sorry, I was hit in the back and am pushed against the wheel. Jock's with me! (There_ was barking again as if confirming it _.) In fact, I…can barely reach the phone…and I don't know how much longer… (_ There was another garbled message _). Please hurry! (_ The transmission went dead _)._

Macbeth rewound and replayed the conversation over and over. No doubt the voice did sound like his': a more frantic, strident Hamish, but himself nonetheless. The voice still could have been his rescuer. He remembered that he saw a rental car sticker on the attempted assassin's car from the view of the windscreen. He dialed the number of the rental agency.

"British Car Rental," a bored male voice called.

"Yes my name is PC Hamish Macbeth and I am investigating a crime. I understand that there was a dark colored van that was rented from your agency. I would like the name of the person who rented it."

"License of the automobile please," Hamish heard the voice mumble. "I went to university for this?"

Hamish gave him the license number and waited a few minutes. "Okay, I have it, but it's obviously a fake name."

"What is it?" Hamish asked.

"Alex D. Leamas," the man replied. "L-E-A-M-A-S. "the receptionist continued in a rather pompous tone. "It's a fake name, because the surname obviously came from the novel, _The Spy Who Came in from the Cold_ , though the spy's first name was Alec. I imagine Alex D. comes from _A Clockwork Orange._ Those are books about men who are alienated from societies-"

"-I know what those books are about," Hamish repeated rather testily. Not only did he know what _A Clockwork Orange_ and _The Spy Who Came in from the Cold_ were about, but he knew someone who read them about as often as Hamish read his Louis L'Amour or Chuck Sadler novels. The sprout of a thought that entered his mind while he was convalescing grew even further. "Cheers, that's the answer I thought." _Not the one I wanted_ , Hamish thought as he hung up the phone.

Hamish leaned on the table when his hand fell on something hard. He looked down to see a small black object buried under various papers and case files. He fished it out and saw a memory stick. He didn't recognize it among the others in the police station. The memory sticks that Hamish and Anderson used for police business were marked with blue stickers. This one was unmarked. Hamish recalled the note, "I _left something lyin' for you at the Lochdubh police station near your least favorite toy_." Hamish nodded this memory stick was near the computer. Hamish was a very low-tech person. He didn't like to use the computer unless he absolutely had to. It figures, that this is what he would leave him.

Hamish plugged the memory stick in the computer. It was a series of gibberish signs and symbols. The constable pounded on the desk in frustration. How was he going to figure this out? He tapped on the computer. Isobel was much better than he was on this stuff, maybe she could help. He removed the memory stick and headed for the Lochdubh Hotel.

"I'm just telling you what we saw," Esme Murray-Campbell's voice rang through the pub as Hamish entered. Hamish ordered a beer and waved at Isobel holding up a finger. Esme continued. "Rory and me, we drove by Kinlavoch Castle! There were all kinds of barricades and figures dressed in black and white." She nodded to her husband, Rory who confirmed his wife's story and kissed her on the lips in comfort. Rory and Esme had been lovers for years, and tied the knot finally less than five years ago. It amused Hamish how much the schoolteacher and shop owner still acted like teenagers in love.

"People fixing the place probably," Lachlan Mac Rae suggested. "Or maybe a rich fancy sort bought the place, like that fool American who bought Castle Wyvern years ago."

"It didn't look like it to us," Rory said. "I heard that some of the local landowners' have had trouble keeping their lands. Now, suddenly the Londoners are calling on their loans and taking the properties from them. What are they doing out there? Remember what happened to some of those activists in Aberdeen."

The locals nodded. There had been a story that a small group of activists were interrupted at a protest in Aberdeen. They were rounded up and expected to be arrested or charged, but no one heard from them. In fact the case was declared closed by local PD.

Jimmy Souter nodded. "My cousin had a friend who had a brother who went grouse hunting and he got lost and came near to a property surrounded by a fence. He was about to pick up his rifle, when he felt a gun tapping him from behind and heard an authoritarian voice telling him to leave. 'Okay,' he said. 'Just let me pick up my gun.' 'No sir,' the man said. 'You will just turn around and leave.' So he ran out of there."

"Maybe the government is turning those places into prisons or something", Rory said. "Or planning some weapons."

"I never would have pegged either of you as conspiracy theorists," Agnes Meldrum admonished. "Jimmy, I can see but-"  
"-Hey," Jimmy interrupted.

"No offense intended," Agnes countered.

"Well this world is getting stranger," Rory said.

"It could happen," Lachie Jr. said. "My online mate, D.A. Batz is always talking about weird stuff going on in London with the National I.D. cards and people getting arrested if they don't have one and the cards are spreading."

"Your online mate D.A. Batz is as much a plonker as you are," Lachlan interrupted his son. "Anyway, not up here. I hadn't got one." There was a general chorus of the locals saying that they hadn't had one or that theirs had expired. "Hamish; Jim you have them don't you?"

The police officers nodded as Hamish spoke, "Since the beginning of this year, all police officers have been required to have a National I.D. but I don't use it out here, just in places like Inverness or Glasgow."

Mac Rae nodded as if Hamish agreed with him. "There you see, it's probably some fancy system to protect against terrorists or other illegals."

Hamish shrugged. "On the other hand, when I was at my folks'-I mean my mother's house in Rogart, the local constabulary had a system to that TIA as well."

Anderson nodded. "You know I still keep in touch with some of my former colleagues from Inverness, McDonald, Kronk, and all. They were saying that soon National I.D. scans will be made mandatory throughout the Highlands. Soon there will be no place in the U.K. which will be without scans and no resident without cards."

" 'And that no man might buy or sell, save he that had the mark, or the name of the beast, or the number of his name,'" Rev. Alan Snow dourly quoted from Revelations Chapter 13 17-18. " ' Here is wisdom. Let him that hath understanding count the number of the beast: for it is the number of a man; and his number is Six hundred threescore and six.' "

Lachlan sarcastically grinned at his son. "Lachie, your mother's brother lives at 668 in Edinburgh. Maybe he's the neighbor of the beast."The group laughed good naturedly except The Campbells and Rev. Snow.

"It wouldn't be so funny if it were true," Snow countered.

There was a hushed silence as if no one wanted to consider that grave fact when Barney cleared his throat. "Well, this is very upsetting but all of this is rumor and hearsay. I'll believe it when I see it."

"I agree, Barney," Lachlan said. "It's probably nothing more than London trying to force their way up here. Let them try. "

Agnes nodded. "Besides, why would they bother doing something like that out here? It's not though a group of terrorists are sitting around in their hideout planning on invading Lochdubh."

Many of the residents laughed at the absurd notion, while Lachlan imitated a terrorist. "So, which should we attack first? London? Nah too obvious. Glasgow? No too big. I know, Lochdubh. Perfect!"

Doc shook his head and pointed at the older man with his pipe. "Technically, they wouldn't have to attack Lochdubh directly. A nuclear weapon or missile in the right area has a 90 mile range. Lochdubh could receive the fallout or acid rain that results." There was a deadly silence. "Then of course there is biological germ warfare. All one would have to do is have contact with someone who is ill and they would certainly get sick from it."

"Thank you, Doc," Anderson said with a shudder. "I feel better now."

"Let's just hope it doesn't interrupt the footer season," Jimmy quipped. The residents laughed nervously and too loudly.

"They wouldn't dare," Rory added. "Not if they knew what was good for them."

The discussion died down as residents continued to hold private conversations. Hamish approached Isobel. "Isobel, can I see you for a minute at the station?"

Isobel nodded warily. "Sure, Hamish what for?"

"I need your help with something," Hamish said motioning forward. "Please bring your laptop."

The reporter and the constable entered the police station as Hamish locked the door and shut the drapes behind him. "I don't know what it is, but I have a feeling that the less people know the better it is. You understand? No matter what you see will not go beyond the two of us." Jock barked in protest. "The three of us."

Isobel nodded and touched her boyfriend's shoulder. "Of course, Hamish don't worry." It was rare for Hamish to act so tense, but he had a full plate lately.

Hamish handed Isobel the memory stick and she placed it in her laptop."This is gibberish!"

Isobel looked closer. " Not necessarily, it's probably encrypted with codes to block people from snooping. Where did you get this?"

"I think its evidence on my father's murder," Hamish said quietly and fiercely. "Can you do anything?"

Isobel glanced right and left as though she suspected that they were being spied on. "I can, but I might have to do some hacking, some illegal channels, understand?"

Hamish held up his hand. "No one would hear it from me." Isobel returned to her laptop and began to work.

In London, Andrew Harris was one of the many computer programmers checking for breaches in security. Normally, it was a dull job deciphering the various warnings brought through the TIA system. There was hardly a real chance for excitement. The programmer mindlessly noted as there was a red blip on the screen. "Damn," he dialed a number that he was warned not to dial unless in extreme circumstances.

Barbara Turney's mobile rang. She read a memo from the Prime Minister as she answered. "Yes?" she said.

"There is a signal breach on classified files," Harris panicked.

"Can you see where it's coming from?" Turney asked.

Harris glanced at the map on the computer screen. "North, it's not in England; Scotland, in the Highlands. It's a town called Loch- uh Lock-Dub? " He couldn't read the name.

The system's monotone female voice announced. "Trace found: Lochdubh, Scotland."

"It's in Lochdoo, Scotland," Harris replied. "I never even heard of this place. "

"I have, "Turney said slowly. "I'll get someone on it." She dialed another number as she checked her computer for a website, a small website that wasn't enough to be excited about but the name of the site interested her as well as the name of the reporter and website administrator: _The Lochdubh Listener,_ website maintained by Isobel Sutherland.

A male voice answered Turney's call. "Hello" Turney answered. "I would like you do a favor for me."

Andrew Wilcox hung up the phone as Bryan Holland looked up drinking vodka in a glass. "What does the Red Queen want now?" Holland quipped.

"She wants our help to locate a security breach," Wilcox answered as he dialed a number.

"And this is our job because-" Holland said confused at his friend's interests.

"Because we know just the chap who can take care of it," Wilcox answered as the person answered his call.

"I have it," Isobel called delighted. Hamish ran to his girlfriend's side and saw that the gibberish was replaced with a small navbar that said : Password Needed.

"Damn it," Isobel cursed. "They need a password. It could be anything!"

Hamish tapped his foot. "Any clue what it could be?"

Isobel shrugged. "Well considering how much work it took to hack into these documents, they are probably egomaniacal to think no one would get this far so the password is probably simple." She typed the word 'Password' but received a 'password incorrect' for her efforts. "Maybe not that simple," she replied dryly.

Hamish glanced at the informant's note reading the words again; " _lyin' in the Lochdubh police station._ "All of the previous notes were written plainly free of slang, colloquialisms, or any sort of character until now. Why? To give Hamish another clue to the informant's identity or for another reason?

"Try the word, 'lyin,' Hamish said "like telling a lie."

Isobel tried it but still the sign came up with 'password incorrect.' "No such luck," she replied. "Any other suggestions?"

"There must be something else," Hamish said. "Wait, try the word 'lion' like the animal."

Isobel pressed the words and the screen shifted. The reporter clapped her hands delighted until the next screen came up: British Secret Intelligence Service Case Identified: #87-4463-JSP7717 Mission Code named: the Lion and the Unicorn! She saw the word: Classified!, covering the entire screen! "Hamish, British Secret Intelligence Service? Do you know that that is?"

"Aye," Hamish replied.

"That is MI-6," Isobel half shouted. "This is confidential, private- If we get caught that would be treason!"

"Aye, I know," Hamish said. "We need to continue!"

"Hamish," Isobel said slowly. "Listen to me, this is the sort of thing that if we are caught people will come and destroy this information, saying it never happened!"

"Then if it never happened, then we aren't looking at anything, therefore we aren't doing anything wrong," Hamish wryly observed.

Isobel rolled her eyes. "It's difficult to have an argument with you, Hamish. Not impossible, just difficult."

"Well you always managed," Hamish retorted.

Isobel didn't answer and returned to the document as she opened the document.

The document was mostly a first person report with chunks of information redacted. Hamish and Isobel began to read:

" _Report on #87-4463-JSP7717 Code Name: The Lion and the Unicorn. Respectfully submitted by Robert Hollywell 17/02/65. Agents included: Self; Samantha Willowes; David Grant; and Russell Finleach, with Benya and Valentina Kurenov in attendance._

(Several pages were redacted). _The mission began with success. Finleach and Willowes trailed the suspect, for days and learned he had been hiding under the assumed name of Fyodor Levin, headmaster of St. Smolenski School for Girls 30 miles e. of Leningrad. There are suspicions that Levin's fellow colleagues are also involved in this ring. Hollywell and Grant remained in contact with our opposite numbers, The Kurenovs who delivered the information. All agents met to discuss the plan to locate the ring and arrest the agents._

(Over 50 pages were redacted before Hamish and Isobel continued reading _) The agents surrounded the school. There was much discussion of how to separate Levin and others from the other parties. Willowes and Grant entered first, managed to pull three enemy agents into the hallway and shoot them. Hollywell locked the door to keep enemies from escaping. Finleach managed to hold Levin at standoff. However, Levin held child in front of him. Finleach shot both child and Levin._

 _Agents escaped target as Hollywell dropped canister into the hallway suspecting other agents followed. The gas caused targets to bleed violently and break out into rashes and burns. Many targets jumped to their deaths or committed murder or suicide from mass hysteria. Est. time of deaths took over an hour. Bodies were burned._

 _Final Analysis: Grave mistakes were made. This mission should not be repeated. It was a complete failure._

"What does all this mean Hamish?" Isobel asked. "It sounds awful."

"Aye," Hamish agreed. "They go in to take down a small group of agents then what do they do? They end up killing a school full of innocent kids and teachers."

"So do you think one of them could be the murderer or someone related to one of these children?" Isobel asked.

Hamish shrugged. He remembered that Nicole McArdle and his mother both mentioned that Susan and his father received phone calls from a man speaking in a foreign language. "Probably," Hamish said. "It's likely, but why wait until now?"

Isobel's voice sounded far away as though she didn't want to consider this thought or hurt Hamish's feelings, but it must be said. "And what does your father have to do with this?"

Hamish nodded. The thought occurred to him as well. "Truth, I'm afraid of finding out."

Isobel flipped on another page. "We have some pictures look."

The reporter and constable looked at the photograph. The photo showed six people standing over what appeared to be a mass grave. The caption listed the people by their initials. Hamish squinted at the faces standing over the grave. "This must be before they burned the bodies." The photograph was grainy and in black and white, but Hamish could barely make out the faces. "Can you enlarge this?"

Isobel nodded and enlarged the photos. A tall thin man stood at the far right his arms folded. Though his hair was dark, not gray, Hamish knew this was John Brandell AKA Robert Hollywell. Next to him stood a woman with short pixie dark hair. He recognized the pale features and the thin smirk as belonging to Susan McArdle or Samantha Willowes. He glanced at two men and one woman that he didn't recognize, but guessed one of them to be Ben Al-Harrad ; the other man possibly, Nicole McArdle's father. Hamish glanced at most of the agents without comment, but it was the last agent, Russell Finleach, that caught the most attention. Russell Finleach was obviously a pseudonym, because Hamish knew his real name. He was smaller than the others, about the same height as the two women and had sandy hair and large brown eyes. Hamish certainly recognized him, because he looked the same in his wedding pictures two years later! "Oh god," Hamish said. "No! No! It can't be!"

"What is it?" Isobel asked.

"That's my father," Hamish said his insides tightening. He sank down into the chair confused and shaken.

Isobel ran to her boyfriend's side. She wrapped her arm around his shoulders. Hamish buried his face in his hands. "How could he do that?" Hamish asked. "He killed them! A mass murder! How could he take part in that and look at us-his children? What was he thinking?"

"Hamish calm down," Isobel said. "It was an accident. You read the file, just an accident!"

"And still those children died," Hamish said quietly. He thought for a minute. "I need to print these pictures." His voice was gritty and filled with anger.

"What for?" Isobel asked.

Hamish pointed at the photo. "Al-Harrad, McArdle, and my father were all killed within a few weeks of each other!" He pointed at David Grant. "This man as far as I can tell has been dead for 8 years, but his daughter is in a coma! The only people left alive were Brandell and this other woman! I need to find out what they know! One of them could even be the murderer themselves!"

Isobel looked shocked. "You're still going through with this? You want to make this public?"

"Three people are dead and one is possibly dying," Hamish retorted.

"So were all of those schoolchildren!" Isobel reminded him.

"You said so yourself that it was an accident," Hamish reminded her.

"Do you think anyone else will believe it?" Isobel shot back. "Your family, their families! Hamish let it go," Isobel warned. "Think about your family! Don't you want them to remember their father the way he was? This story will only upset them!"

"And do what let his killer go free?" Hamish said. "There has been enough people covering up murders and lies! I can't be one of them!"

"So finding the truth is more important to you than restoring your father's good name," Isobel yelled. Her voice became softer. "It won't bring him back nor will it reverse what he did."

"Finding the murderer is," Hamish half-shouted.

Isobel shook her head as she printed the photograph. She knew that when he lost someone he cared about, the normally easy going constable could be as vengeful as anyone. "Then if you do this, Hamish, I won't be a part of this," Isobel said sadly. Hamish opened his mouth to say something and she finished for him as though she read his mind. "I won't tell anyone of my involvement nor of this. I promise. It's your family I'm leaving it up to you." She handed him the picture. "But know this you are on your own in all ways."

He knew what Isobel meant. She was breaking up with him for good. They both knew with their relationship being as tempestuous as it had been that it would come to this. Surprisingly, Hamish realized how little it concerned him now. "If that is the way it has to be." Isobel picked up her laptop. She didn't look behind her as she left the police station. It didn't occur to Hamish until later, that she accidentally took the memory stick with her.

Hamish returned to Rogart. The hotel reported that John Brandell had checked out and gave no records of where he was now. So, Hamish settled for Plan B: he visited the hospital to see if Nicole McArdle had awakened or her husband would be willing to talk. Hamish stepped out into the hospital ward. He saw the tall muscular frame of Martin Brandell heading out. "Macbeth, hi," he said surprised.

"Brandell, what are you doing here?" Hamish asked.

"Looking in on Nicole," Martin replied his tone was bitter and exhausted sounding. "I figured someone ought to."

"Her husband isn't around?" Hamish asked.

Martin shook his head. "The invisible man, unfortunately I have to return to London. Apparently, accident victims don't drive ambulances themselves."

The constable grinned thinly at the EMT's gallows humor. "How is she?"

"She came out of her coma," Martin replied. "But she's still somewhat out of it. She was asleep last I saw her."

"Have you heard from your father?" Hamish asked.

Brandell shrugged. "He mentioned something about being called back to London for business apparently."

"I thought he was retired," Hamish said.

"He is," Martin reacted dryly. "Mostly, he does some consulting and advisory stuff now and again because he still has colleagues that he keeps in touch with."

"Did he ever talk about his early days or any missions that he was involved in?" Hamish asked.

Martin shook his head. "No, Official Secrets Act and all. He is a soldier to the last. I wouldn't ask him anyway."

"How come?" Hamish asked.

"We don't really get on," Martin replied. "It's the old story, my mum and dad got divorced. So Mum thought that I could learn some discipline from my old man. It ended up working the opposite on me, so I wanted to be everything he wasn't. He took lives on the front; I make a point to save them on the streets."

"That's a good idea," Hamish replied. "Did your Dad get any strange phone calls? Anyone that he spoke to with a foreign accent?"

Martin touched his chin in thought. "He gets unusual calls all the time so I don't remember, but he has been kind of different lately."

"Different how so?" Hamish asked.

"I don't know jumpy, moody, in hysterics," Brandell replied. "Usually he is the picture of icy cold reserve itself but he's been acting nervous like he expected someone to follow him."

"Do you have any idea who?" Hamish asked.

Martin shrugged then glanced at his watch. "Who's to say? I got to go. I have a train to catch. The hospital told me that they will let me know Nicole's condition."

Hamish nodded. "Alright bye, then." The constable watched the tall man disappear through the revolving door.

The elevator stopped on the third floor as Hamish approached Nicole's hospital room. A loud beep filled the hallway as several nurses ran to a room, Nicole's room! Hamish followed as the nurses yelled "She's crashing!" "Take her to the emergency room!" They placed her on the gurney as her lifeline went faster and faster. Finally, it stopped and went flat. The nurses hung their heads. Hamish stood in stony silence as the nurses took her statistics. He heard one of them mention "natural causes." The constable glanced at the young woman as they wrapped her up in a sheet and undid her tubes. Hamish stepped aside letting the nurses move her. He absently fingered the respirator. His finger cut through a small hole. He examined the tube and saw that someone had made a small incision on Nicole's respirator. She had been murdered! "Natural causes indeed," he cursed.

The constable backed to the hallway looking for someone who could be a murderer. His best approach would be to follow Martin Brandell since he was the last person to be with her. He headed for the elevator. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the door to the staircase slightly open. Curiously, he opened the door wider and saw a figure run down the staircase. The figure was dressed all in black and completely covered by a hood. Hamish continued to follow.

The figure ran down to the first floor and out to an exit. Hamish grabbed his pursuer from behind by the arms. "Alright you are going to tell me exactly what I need to know, lad!" He gripped the person tighter until they gave out a high and obviously feminine scream. Surprised, Hamish removed the figure's hood to see a woman with Eastern European features and long graying dark hair in a bun.

"Did you kill her?" Hamish asked.

"She was dying when I got there," the woman said in a heavy accent.

"A likely story," the constable countered. "Did you kill Susan McArdle, Angus Macbeth, and Ben Al-Harrad?"

"No!" the woman shouted.

"Give me one good reason why I should believe you," Macbeth replied.

"Because I didn't kill my own husband or the others," she replied.

Hamish let go of her. "You're Valentina Kurenov." He realized, the other woman in the photograph on the mission!

She smirked. "I haven't been called that in years. My late husband and I changed our names when we converted to Islam."

"I thought you were in Armenia and couldn't claim your husband's body," Hamish said still skeptical.

"I have lived in London for over 20 years and I haven't been home to _Azerbaijan_ in years," Tania Al-Harrad replied. "Though I suppose it makes no difference to an Englishman."

This time it was Hamish's turn to be offended. "I am not an Englishman- oh." He understood the point that the older woman was trying to make. He reverted back to the original subject. "So you know about what happened, that accident?"

"That was no accident," the woman shot back.

"What do you mean?" Hamish asked. She hesitated when Hamish continued. This time his tone was gentler. "Listen most of the people who were on that mission had died in the last three weeks. If you are not the killer, it's not too hard to assume that you will be next so you had best tell me."

"Alright, but I need something from you," she answered. She handed him a blue suit. "Take off your clothing."

Hamish laughed in sarcasm. "Well Madam, I just met you and I usually don't work that fast-"

"-I want to be sure that you were not tagged," Tania replied. "Change your clothing."

"But I'm not," Hamish countered.

"You could have been and not know it," the woman argued. "There are small tags, less than the size of a grain of rice that can go on your trousers. This is the only way I will know for sure."

"Are you serious?" Hamish asked.

"Alright, then fine, find out what you need to know on your own," Tania said ready to walk away.

"Wait," Hamish replied. He unbuttoned his jacket to show her, but she held up a hand in protest.

"Not here," she said. "My car is in the parking garage. Change in there."

Hamish waited in the passenger seat as the car bumped into one rock after another. The constable could see nothing, but darkness. No sooner had he entered the automobile and removed his clothing, and then she put a blindfold over his eyes. "Where are you taking me?" Hamish asked.

"I will tell you what you need to know," Kurenov said, "But I want you to meet someone else. He can explain as much as I can."

Hamish held his hands together, his stomach knotting with anticipation with what would happen next and where this woman was leading him. Suddenly the car stopped and Hamish could hear the driver's door open. He waited a few seconds as she opened the passenger seat and let the constable go.

"Excuse the paranoia," she said. Hamish could hear the dry sarcasm in her voice. "But we are somewhat nervous about visitors. Move forward."

Hamish followed her, his breath tightening. He wished that he had brought the official revolver with him so he could be prepared for whatever she was planning. Oh well, he tensed his body and curled his fingers into fists. He would fight whoever it was physically if he had to. He waited as Kurenov opened the door and called for someone in another language. She pushed Hamish forward. "Go ahead," she said as she removed his blindfold.

Hamish looked around the house was in complete darkness, but he could make out the image of someone approaching him in the darkness. He reached out to grab the person, but the figure grabbed the constable by the shoulder and sent him hurling to the ground. The constable winced as his attacker grabbed him roughly by the arms and shook him hard. Hamish then felt the cold front of a gun pointed at his temple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Kinvaloch Castle is not a real Scottish castle. It combines the names of two real castles in the Highlands, Kilvarock and Kinloch. Of course Castle Wyvern was the castle in _Gargoyles_. We know what happened to that one. :D


	4. Thou Shall Not Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Mikhail and Tania reveal more about that mission years ago and reveal another secret concerning the Macbeth family. Hamish follows ties to that secret and discovers some hidden truths about the long-missing, Ian Macbeth.

Chapter Four: Thou Shall Not Fall

Hamish pulled himself upwards and knocked the gun from his assailant's hand. He was pleased to hear the weapon fall with a loud clack on the floor. He hurled himself at his kidnapper who tackled the constable to the ground. The figure pushed Hamish to the ground and hurled his weight on his wounded shoulders. Hamish cried out in pain as the lights flooded on.

"Mikhail, get off of him," Tania Al-Harrad commanded. In the light, Hamish looked closer at his avenger. He certainly looked familiar, but instead of a fancy pressed suit and haughty demeanor, he was dressed in black clothing and had an expression of anger. "Gabriel McArdle," Hamish taunted. "I assume that's not your real name."

Gabriel glared at the constable. "What's it to you?" he said in a Cockney accent.

Tania glared at him to silence him. "This is my son, Mikhail Kurenov." Hamish looked closely at him. Instead of his earlier square chiseled features (obviously prosthetics), Mikhail's facial contours were narrow and pointed: a perfect image of his biological mother.

"You two were working together," Hamish realized. "Were you sent to spy on Susan McArdle?"

Mikhail glanced over at his mother. "Is he tagged?" Tania shook her head. "Nikki and I are working together. Susan was just our cover."

Hamish rubbed his temples. "You've been here the whole time," he reasoned. "You could not have possibly killed Nicole." He sounded almost disappointed.

Mikhail's eyes widened and his lower lip trembled. For a few seconds, Hamish saw vulnerability in the man who so far had shown only haughtiness and suspicion. "Nicole, dead? When?"

"Maybe half an hour ago," Hamish said.

Tania nodded. "I came upon her."

Mikhail sank down to a chair. "I can't believe it-"He stood up in anger. The mother and son argued vehemently in their native language. Hamish couldn't guess what they were saying, but figured with their gestures and angry expressions that Mikhail was prepared to seek vengeance while his mother talked him down.

Mikhail sat down almost wearily as Hamish continued. "What are you doing here? You had better start talking about the Lion and the Unicorn and what happened at that acc-"He remembered Valentina's words. "-the deaths of those people and why the agents are dead."

The mother and son looked at each other warily but Valentina stepped forward. "I will begin. How much do you know?" She invited Hamish to be seated.

"I know that it was a mission over 40 years ago. My father was among several agents that were sent to catch a spy ring. They-"his voice caught. "-tracked them to a school and shot the ring, but one of the agents dropped a canister of poisonous gas killing the students. "

Tania smiled ironically. "Then you heard the official version," she said. "I will tell you the truth. I was a scientist working in Moscow and my husband was a double agent working for the KGB. We made a deal with SIS that they would help us escape to the West, if we provided them with my latest research."

"What was it?" Hamish asked.

"I was a biochemist," Tania replied. "At the time, biological warfare was in its infancy. We were working on the idea of passing biological contagions with aerial contact. The British heard about it and were unsurprisingly interested. My husband and I agreed to exchange a canister of the contagion for our release. We worked with a small group of two English agents and two Scottish agents-"

"-The Lions and the Unicorns," Hamish reasoned remembering that the lion was the symbol of England and the unicorn the symbol of Scotland. "So, this mission wasn't to capture the spy ring, it was to test the contagion on the spies, the children-"Hamish remained impassive so these spies couldn't see what he was truly feeling.

"It was found sloppy, it took too long for the subjects to die," Tania said dryly with a small touch of emotion. "So this mission was found wanting and was ultimately seen as a failure."

"How many of the agents knew of the mission's true agenda?," Hamish asked.

Tania shrugged. "At first, only one, their mission commander, Robert Hollywell."

 _John Brandell,_ Hamish remembered the case file. "So my-"Hamish corrected. "-the other agents had no preconceived knowledge of what the mission was about?" The constable almost felt relieved at his father's innocence but remember that they still contributed much destruction.

Tania shook her head. "No, they did not. Grant and Finleach resigned shortly after the mission ended reverting to their former lives and original identities. I suppose the adventure wasn't worth the 'acceptable losses.' "The older woman's voice had a tone of sarcasm.

"And you and your husband got a free ticket to the West for your efforts," Hamish shot back. "What difference did it make?"

"We could argue that ignorance is no excuse," Mikhail shot back. "That Grant and Finleach weren't exactly heroes either!" Hamish was furious that Mikhail argued what Hamish felt.

"Enough both of you," Tania corrected. "All were at fault."

Hamish and Mikhail were silent, and then the constable asked. "So, why were your husband, my father, and Ms. Mc-Willowes murdered in the last few weeks? What was the significance?"

Mother and son exchanged nervous frightened glances. "Benya, my husband, wanted to make the story public, so he called each of the agents using the database for their phone numbers to warn them of what to expect."

"Did the agents agree to it?" Hamish asked.

"Most of them," Tania answered. "In fact your father said that it was more than they deserved."

"Who disagreed?" Hamish asked.

Tania shrugged. "Only Hollywell."

"He may have murdered the other agents to keep quiet," Hamish suggested.

"Possibly," Tania agreed. "If not he is certainly high enough in politics and business to get someone to do it for him."

Hamish didn't know what to say almost not hearing the other woman's comments. _His father had helped to murder several children and walked away like it was nothing! How could he live every day like that?_ , he thought. _No, think like a constable not like a_ _son_ , he told himself. " Why did your husband choose now to reveal this. He had a belated sense of conscience?" Hamish asked.

"Not exactly," Tania said, then she put her hand on top of her son's hand. "He, we both, reunited with our son and Ben could no longer bear the years of loss."

"What do you mean?" Hamish asked.

"All of us who were on that mission also shared another legacy," Tania said.

"Mama no," Mikhail corrected.

Tania wouldn't listen. She continued. "We all lost our children around the same time."

The constable started. He felt the color drain from his face. "All the agents that means-where were they?"

The two remained silent for a long time as if they hadn't heard Hamish's question. He was about to ask again when Tania answered. "As children they had been recruited to join British Intelligence. "

"When was this?" Hamish asked. His insides all churned as he waited for the answer that he knew.

"22 years ago," Tania said calmly. Hamish knew this to be the truth. _It was the same time that Ian disappeared!_

Hamish couldn't find the words to ask his next question. "How did it happen? Why-" he asked.

Tania looked down. "During the Cold War, Eastern and Western Intelligence shared many traits in common, particularly the interest in training child soldiers. After the Cold War ended, it was thought that the project would be abandoned, but instead the superiors thought it best to use these children instead to deal with foreign and domestic intelligence. They decided to start with the children of current and former agents figuring that it would be easier to convince them to give their children away. It wasn't as easy as they thought."

Hamish recalled his stern father and rebellious brother during the weeks before he disappeared knowing how difficult it must have been. "So how were these children recruited? Did the parents know?" He wasn't sure which answer that he would hate more.

"After a few threats, the parents were surprisingly complacent," Tania said dryly. Hamish shook his head, his insides churning in anger. _He knew, the son of a bitch knew where he was the whole time and never said anything_ , he thought.

Mikhail shrugged. "Various ways; the older ones got seduced into it. The younger ones, well it didn't take much. In my case I was 12 years old and all it took was a friendly man and woman in a black car and a short detour home with no witnesses." Tania became misty eyed as if recalling that time.

"Where did you go?" Hamish asked.

"We called it The Center. There was a facility on an island in Northern Scotland. There were fence posts around all sides and guards watching for our escape. Anyway, we were constantly monitored, trained, educated by their own specific agendas. "

"Did any of you rebel?" Hamish tried to picture Ian willing to be put in a situation like that, and failing.

"They had creative ways of dealing with those who resisted; brainwashing, sleep deprivation, sensory deprivation," Mikhail said. "They weren't above physical and psychological torture to achieve obedience."

"Good lord," the constable replied in sympathy. "What kind of agents were they trying to create?"

"Good ones," Mikhail said nonchalantly. "They could say it worked too well."

"How do you mean?" Hamish didn't like where this was going.

"Many of us as adults and trained professionals, we were found to be physically strong or mentally intelligent, but many of us developed psychotic or sociopathic symptoms," Mikhail replied. "Good at what we did, but morals so fucked up no agency would think of hiring us."

"So they released you?" Hamish inquired.

"In a manner of speaking," Mikhail replied. "Some of us 'outlived our usefulness.' Others are currently languishing in hospitals for the criminally insane. Others went rogue serving the government or any government that pays enough as freelancers. Nick and I are-were still able to work for MI-5, but that may change now." Tania put her hand on top of her son's.

Hamish hung his head. He wondered which of those Ian were and had a feeling his brother might be more lost to him than ever. He took a deep breath before asking this question fearing any of the possible answers. "Mikhail, did you ever know anyone at that place that looked well- like me? Or know of anyone who might have been Angus – I mean Russell Finleach's son?"

"Well we weren't exactly one big happy family out there," Mikhail said sarcastically. "We didn't forget our families, but were told to never contact them and were taught to distrust them and each other. But, I think so. I remember. There were five of us originally. He was the oldest. He was kind of a troublemaker, always one of the ones who tried to run off. I guess they tried every means of breaking him. "

"Was his name Ian Macbeth?" Hamish asked.

"That doesn't sound familiar, but most of us had new identities when we went there," Mikhail said. ". But his name wasn't Macbeth, I'd remember that name. It was Russell, I think! Yes, David Russell! He was older, kept himself to himself mostly. The only person that he talked to was this older man, well older than us, Joe- something?"

"Haney, Jo Haney?" Hamish supplied. "A tall man early 20's, at the time, long dark hair?"

Mikhail nodded. "Yeah, that's the bloke. I always thought he looked more like a vampire, but-"

"I thought so too," Hamish said. If he had any doubt whether Ian was taken to the Center, those doubts ended as soon as Mikhail described Jo. "Did you find out where this David Russell went?"

Mikhail shook his head. "No, we don't exactly keep in touch. When he left the Center I think they sent him to the Middle East, but that's all I know beyond that. He couldn't have been more than 20 then, I suppose. For all I know he's still there."

 _Maybe not,_ Hamish thought. He shook his head, preferring for now to concentrate on the murders. If his informant was indeed Ian, like he thought, then maybe he can confront him later. "About these murders? Could Hollywell have done it, would you be willing to help me catch him?"

Both mother and son glanced at each other with fear in their eyes. "We can't," Tania said, frightened. "We have already said too much. We could even be watched now!"

"Mum, enough," Mikhail corrected. He turned to Hamish. "Macbeth, our lives will be worth shit! The only reason I am even here talking to you is because we need to get out of here! We know how much information is worth!"

"Mikhail, how are we going to leave?" Tania asked. "We discussed this. We will be noticed as soon as we get to the transit station."

Hamish thought. "Maybe not. I have an idea, but I need you to do something for me. May I borrow your phone?"

Tania handed him her mobile. Hamish glanced at his watch. He said that he would be in London for a conference. Hamish just prayed that his mobile was working. The phone rang several times before a brusque Scottish voice answered. "Hello?"

"Uncle Len," Hamish said. "I need your help."

Hamish fidgeted and paced while Lennox waited next to his private jet. The cold air wasn't helping his mood any and the rain froze on the two men making their breath visible in the air. "They had better be here, Hamish," Len said sternly.

"They'll be here," Hamish said. "You didn't have to help me. "

"You are getting yourself into a world of trouble," Lennox quipped. "The least I could do is watch you make an ass of yourself. Besides I prefer any reason to give the London government a black eye."

Hamish ignored his older relative's sarcastic humor and glanced at the jet. "I never asked you this, but how much did it cost you to make this jet and the rest of your equipment to hunt gargoyles?" Lennox wouldn't answer, but just glared at his impudent younger relative, but Hamish continued. "Maybe 22 years of silence, perhaps 45?"

Lennox looked squarely at his descendant, his face red with rage. The constable braced himself for Lennox to hit him, but instead his voice was low and menacing. "I warned you that the past is better left alone."

Hamish was about to respond when he saw the headlights of a black car approach. "That will be them," he said. Tania Al-Harrad and Mikhail Kurenov emerged from their car dressed entirely in black. They approached the Macbeths. Tania embraced Hamish. "Thank you Mr. Macbeth," she said. "You don't know how much I appreciate this."

She was about to embrace Lennox when he pulled from her embarrassed. "Alright, go on then, madam," Lennox blushed. "Off with you now!" The Azerbaijani expatriate entered the jet.

Mikhail approached Hamish and Lennox. "You're sure that we won't be noticed by the government?"

"Not to worry, lad," Lennox remarked. "I know a few technological tricks to keep the London higher ups from getting too concerned, plus I have some acquaintances in high places that will look the other way."

Mikhail seemed uncertain, but slipped the constable a manila envelope. "You are taking an awful big chance for us, Macbeth it seems fair that I do something for you." Hamish opened the envelope to see what the former agent had given him. He glanced through five photographs and then up at Mikhail. "Some of us were closer than others," Mikhail replied. He took Hamish's hand and seemed to embrace him. "Check Loch Morgal," he whispered. Hamish was about to ask the other man what he meant, before Mikhail entered the private jet.

Hamish stepped back as his great uncle revved the engine and fixed Hamish with a thumbs-up sign. Hamish nodded and waved as the older man flew into the sky with his cargo.

Hamish drove to Loch Morgal, an island near the Hebrides. He parked the Rover which had finally been repaired after the car accident. He knew of the place and many of the islands around there. In a bid for industrialization and during the Cold War, some military complexes were built around there in restricted areas. He had heard that since then, many of the old time fishermen had moved on since the waters had been polluted. Hamish pulled the Land Rover onto the driveway. He looked around to see a town smaller than Lochdubh. Many residents, most of them older than he, stared at the visitor with suspicion and overt hostility. Hamish looked through the town and saw more stores closed and boarded up than open for business. He thought of this town and the stories that his friends shared about the castles being purchased by the government. Even though he considered himself apolitical and often let the world run itself around him, he wondered what the government was planning and knew that it couldn't be good for Scotland whatever the outcome.

The constable moved towards the harbor and motioned to an elderly fisherman. He bent over in a hunched posture and stared at Hamish through his wizened gray eyes. Everything about him was gray from his long beard to his uniform long faded in bad weather. "Mr. McDougal?" Hamish asked. The man responded with a curt nod. "My name is PC Macbeth, we spoke on the phone. You agreed to take me to Loch Morgal?" The man nodded.

Hamish waited patiently as the boat churned through the murky water through the islands. Hamish glanced at rusted buildings, dead wildlife, and the sooty air. _This is what the tourists don't care about_ , he thought soberly. The sun was setting sending red lights over the horizon. To recover from his gloom Hamish tried to engage the Mr. McDougal in conversation, but the man just stared at the sea in silence. "Lovely weather huh?" Hamish began. "Been here all your life?" Still nothing. "How about that footer match?" Hamish shrugged. "Problem is, I can't get a word in edgewise with you."

The boat stopped near an island that was empty except for the large imposing bordered fence in front of them. It was a fence that was completely covered from the outside. "Is this Loch Morgal?" Hamish asked. The fisherman nodded. "Stop please."

"You ain't supposed to stop here," MacDougal said. " 'Tis restricted."

"You don't have to come with me then," Hamish said. "Just wait out here." He gave the fisherman some money and hoped that he was as honest as he was silent. The constable disembarked from the boat as twilight approached.

Hamish walked around the fence trying to look for a way in. He knocked on the posts feeling any sort of false give away or any door that he hoped had remained unlocked to no avail. He leaned against the wall. A dead end! Suddenly, he glanced at an over cropping of weeds. He knelt down and saw a hole probably formed from years of weathering. He gently took out his army knife and maneuvered the hole to become larger. He then hoisted his body through to the other side.

The constable rose to his feet, grabbed his shoulders in pain, and looked around the buildings. They were rotted and charred from a fire he guessed. Since it was getting dark, Hamish turned on his flashlight. He moved some stones forward to mark the place from where he left . He felt an instant chill and shivered audibly. Something about this place made him feel sick and uncomfortable. He moved forward to what looked like some sort of barracks. He gently opened the door which fell on its hinges. He moved his hands along a bedpost long rotted away. A scream broke his thoughts. Terrified, the constable turned around and flashed his torch around the barracks. No, he was alone! He gulped and moved out of the barracks.

Hamish's lips shook and he exhaled small wisps of air. He moved towards a large building that he guessed was the main building. He gingerly approached it and opened the door. He walked down halls which contained small iron doors. _Prisons_ , he guessed. He focused his flashlight inside and found nothing. A rat scuttled along the hallway making Macbeth jump in fear. He caught his breath and glanced at a door on the far end. He approached the rusted door and used all his strength to hoist it open. He only got it slightly ajar. He squeezed through the opening and entered.

Hamish felt nauseous as he entered. A wooden chair contained straps and binding sat in the middle. Hamish approached it and saw some frayed wiring connected to it. It looked like an electric chair, but he wondered if there was enough power to kill someone. He held up one wire and realized it was not enough to kill, but certainly enough to torture someone. He glanced over to the left at the edge of a tub. He approached the tub curiously. He saw it was dingy with dirt and mildew all around. A top covering lay on the tub. Hamish pulled open the tub, but found it empty.

The constable squatted down. What could all this mean? He then remembered Mikhail saying that the people at the Center weren't above physical and psychological torture to achieve obedience. He guessed the tub was a sensory deprivation tank and the chair maybe for brainwashing or electroshocks. Hamish felt very sick. He felt like he wasn't alone in the room like two larger figures were pushing him inside but he struggled to fight against them. _He glanced up as the guards forced him into the chair and then threatened to put him in the tank. Hamish fell to the ground but looked up to see an older gray haired man look up at him. It was Robert Hollywell. A young man with long dark hair smirked behind him._ Hamish felt the bile rush to his throat as he ran out the door.

It took a minute for Hamish to catch his breath on the side of the main room for him to realize that he was alone at the Center. There was no one around him, so what he was experiencing was not real. It was a memory. He was experiencing a memory of being there before. _But I have never been here before_ , he thought, _whose memories am I seeing? Ian's?_ He didn't have time to think about it as he saw a bright light appear in the sky. At first he thought it was an airplane, but the light got closer and he could hear the whirring sound. Hamish knew it had to be a helicopter probably looking for him no doubt! Hamish doused the flashlight and ran to the fence where he marked his passage. He squeezed through the fence as the helicopter came closer. The pockets of his trousers were caught against a snag. He took a deep breath and pushed himself through.

He stood on the other side, until a hand clasped over his mouth and pushed him down. Through the clamped mouth Hamish gasped in pain. MacDougal grabbed on to the constable and forced him into the boat. The boat was hidden among the rocks. The elderly fisherman put some old tarp over the two men. Hamish and MacDougal crouched down waiting with bated breath as the helicopter disappeared into the sky.

Hamish spent most of the next morning locked away in his bedroom looking through old photographs and memories. The images that he saw at Loch Morgal filled him as did these pictures of innocent children. He then remembered that the parents of those children at that school thought they were innocent too. He remembered Tania's words: _All were at fault_. "That's for damn sure," Hamish said as he thumbed through the photographs.

He glanced at the photographs of the five young children that Mikhail handed him, no names just youths with their whole lives ahead of them: a smiling girl of about 13 years old with dark hair in braids; a 12 year old boy with a comically serious expression; a fair haired 15 year old boy who managed to look both impish and angelic; a 15 year old blond girl who looked like she could have been a teen model; and of course the 16 year old that Hamish knew too well. He knew those large brown eyes that could exude sarcasm and manipulative vulnerability and the thin line that formed along his face whenever its owner was photographed, because he hated to have his picture taken.

Hamish decided to start with what he knew. He compared the photograph of David Russell with one of Ian Macbeth, they were the same he could see that. He tried to fit what he remembered of his twin brother and what could have led him to being recruited.

He remembered those last few months with Ian. The brothers were very close, they certainly got into their share of arguments, but there was a never a real fight between them. Most people said that they complemented each other. Hamish was mellow and easy-going, while Ian was belligerent and tense; when the two got into the share of scrapes, Ian was usually the brains behind their schemes while Hamish was usually the muscle. They had disagreements about choices in music, books, movies, and television (which were more often chosen to annoy the other), but there was an unspoken understanding between them. The type of understanding that was shared between siblings who knew each other, and could practically share thoughts and emotions.

Despite this almost psychic sense between the two, Hamish could never understand what actually went wrong between himself and Ian. He glanced at the last picture that ever featured the brothers, shortly after their 16th birthday. They were standing next to each other, bookends except for Hamish's wide grin contrasting with Ian's smirk. Hamish always figured that there may not have been one specific reason that Ian left. His mother always said that Ian had some "funny grand ideas that were too big for a town like Lochdubh."

He never fit in town, Hamish knew that. He preferred to stay out of most community events and where many of the children had dreams that required them to stay in the area or at least in Scotland, Ian wasn't content to stay near the hills that he had once called home. Sometimes he would leave the area just to see how far he could go, before someone found him and made him return. Hamish always felt that his brother was too restless to stick around.

Ian was considered a rebel by most of the townspeople, even dangerous. Hamish admitted that there was always a dark undercurrent to his brother's behavior. Sometimes his thoughts would become tangled up and erratic, other times he would fall into depressive moods and he wouldn't speak to anyone for days. One time a boy from a wealthy English family visiting Lochdubh for a holiday, made fun of Hamish's accent and called him a "stupid yokel." Enraged, Ian pummeled the kid and beat him until he was bloody. It took all of Hamish's strength to keep his twin from killing the boy. Of course maybe it was none of his restless dark thoughts that drove Ian away, maybe it wasn't Ian at all. Maybe it was Jo Haney.

Hamish recalled the year when Jo arrived in Lochdubh. He claimed to be a Traveler, coming through town looking for work. He had long dark hair, tanned skin, and dressed in dark colors. Most of the girls in town thought he looked like a Romantic hero, but he never paid any of them any mind.

Hamish always knew that his brother was gay. He privately thought that he knew before Ian ever brought it to light himself. The way that Ian and Jo would find any reason to "accidentally touch" each other, the way they stood just a few seconds too long their legs and hands touching right before they let go. Even the sarcastic, but almost warm smile Ian gave the Traveler whenever they engineered a fight or a put-down against each other. So, he wasn't surprised when Hamish ran up to their bedroom and he found his brother and Jo lying next to each other completely naked.

"Hamish what the fuck!" Ian yelled while Jo jumped off the bed. They both looked embarrassed at being caught, but Hamish caught their sly grins at each other and knew that neither was ashamed over what they had done.

Hamish turned away from the sight of the two naked young men struggling to put their clothes on. "I just wanted to say that I saw Dad's car in the driveway. They are on their way in and I can see both of your nether regions."

"I'd better go," Jo said. He turned to Ian, but the teenager pulled him back.

"Jo don't," Ian pleaded, but the older man resisted.

"I have to," Jo said. He whispered something in Ian's ear. The younger boy nodded and whispered back. Jo then disappeared as quickly as he came through the upstairs window.

Ian looked sadly at the window as if willing his older lover to reappear. He then turned to his brother as if remembering that he was there. "So you know," Ian began flatly.

"We share a bedroom," Hamish quipped. "I'd be completely stupid if I didn't."

Ian looked at Hamish in silence and then walked closer to his brother. When he spoke, his voice was low and threatening. "If you tell anyone about this, I will cut you into so many pieces that even the crows won't be able to tell where you are buried." The blazing look in his brothers' eyes made Hamish wonder if he really would. He promised he wouldn't.

Despite Ian's threat, word did get around. Even though Hamish kept his promise, he never found out exactly how anyone knew. Perhaps, the two young men weren't as discreet as they thought, perhaps someone saw Jo sneak out of the Macbeth home. Either way within a week, the town was abuzz with rumors about Ian Macbeth and Jo Haney being male lovers.

People made derogatory comments about Ian and Jo behind their backs and more often to Ian's face calling them "perverts," "queers," saying that Jo should be arrested and the Macbeth family should be ashamed having a son like him, among others. Ian often challenged or threatened his antagonists, even got suspended for fighting with another student. He was defensive against everybody, even Hamish. He claimed to believe Hamish when his brother told him that he didn't tell anyone and apart from punching Hamish in the nose, Ian took no further retaliation on his twin perhaps needing him as the lone source of loyalty around him. The worst part was Jo was not around. He mostly hung around his trailer outside town and stayed away from Ian.

Hamish remembered one of the arguments between Ian and their father. Their dad raised his voice. "This is the sort of thing that will follow you for the rest of your life! Have you no shame in what you do?"

"I suppose it runs in the family," Ian snapped back. "You're a fine one to talk about what I should be ashamed about!" The air rang with Angus' hand on Ian's cheek. Ian glared at his father and ran out the door.

Shortly after that time, things had settled down. The rumors died and eventually Ian's affair became old news. Ian didn't talk about it, nor did anyone else. But there was a general uneasiness between the father and son. Sometimes Hamish would catch Ian and his father hitting each other quiet, but distrustful looks. But things were quiet, like calm before a storm.

Late one night, Ian invited Hamish to follow him outside into the hills. The two sat in their private place, among the hills overlooking the loch drinking whiskey, smoking marijuana that the boys lifted from outside of town, and talking and laughing loudly.

"You know Ronnie," Hamish slurred calling his brother by their familiar nickname for each other. A man who moved to Lochdubh from East End London dismissively compared the Macbeth brothers to the Kray twins. As a joke the brothers referred to each other as Reggie and Ronnie after the gangsters, later considering them private names for each other. Hamish repeated his brother's name. "You know I didn't tell anyone."

"I know, Reg, I know," Ian said. He then said sarcastically. "It doesn't matter. Word was bound to get round anyway. It's not fair, you get your first time, and everyone slaps you on the back and buys you a beer at the pub! I get my first time and I get called a queer and the lad I'm fucking would get arrested if he hadn't the brains to run off."

"They're just not used to it," Hamish said. "After so many years of being told that sort of thing was wrong. Not that it is, of course!"

"Fuck it," Ian glowered. "Why did I expect anything different from this damn town?"

Hamish rolled his eyes. His brain was clouded with the combination of liquor and pot. "There you go again. 'Nothing happens here.' 'I can't wait to get out of this town!' Lochdubh isn't that bad."

"Name one reason," Ian challenged taking a swig of liquor.

"Well there's-" Hamish began but couldn't think of anything. "And then there's-" Hamish was silent for a minute. "Hang on, I'm sure there's something."

Ian guffawed. "See what I mean! You'll end up just like every other no-hope around here!"

"Not hardly," Hamish arose so quickly that he felt dizzy. "You think I'm going to stay here? I'm going out West."

"I don't think the West is still like your novels, Ham" Ian corrected good-naturedly.

"It doesn't matter," Hamish said. "I'm going out there anyway. I'll be the sheriff! All of those outlaws had better watch out!"

"Oh, Wyatt Earp's in town," Ian said clenching his hands into fists and challenging his brother. Hamish laughed as he pointed his finger like a gun and pretended like he was shooting at Ian.

"Ooh," Ian clutched his chest pretending to fall dramatically. The two brothers fell on the hard ground laughing.

"Besides it's not like you're heading out the road," Hamish jibed. "I don't see you making any plans to leave."

"Shows how much you know," Ian said. "Soon Jo and I will be hitting the road, no rules, no laws, just him, me, a bike, and a gun for anyone who tries to get in our way." He laughed hysterically. Hamish joined him, but then stopped.

"You can't do that," Hamish said. "Because if you do that, then you'll be an outlaw. If you're an outlaw and I'm a sheriff, I'd have to chase you and I don't want to do that!" In his fogged mind, Hamish tried to think of a reason, but he couldn't recall. "You run way too fast." He said desperately.

Ian smirked. "Then I'll slow down for you." He spoke so quietly, that he probably hoped Hamish didn't hear him. He did. The two brothers sat and watched the stars glow over the small village. The loch moved slowly, a black shadow in the horizon. After a few minutes, Ian stood up. "Well come on, Sheriff let's get home."

Hamish stood up. "Right on we go," he said. He was about to move the direction away from Lochdubh, when Ian pointed in the right direction.

The next morning Hamish awoke with a pounding headache and a silent bedroom. He looked to his left where Ian's bed lay and saw that it was empty. Despite alerting the police and listing Ian as a missing person, Hamish and his family never heard from him again. After about a year, local police found Ian's jacket covered in blood, so his father called off his search.

Hamish returned to the present recalling that night. He had guessed long ago that Ian took him out that night to get him drunk and high, so he would be unable to hear Ian leave. Now looking at those days with older eyes, Hamish could see the truth: Far from being a Traveler looking for work, Jo was an agent recruiting Ian for the Center. He was the dark haired man standing behind Robert Hollywell in Hamish's shared memory.

Jo had seduced Ian partly with his body and told him about their father's participation in that mission. He and Ian ran off that night and his brother must have left the jacket to make them think that he was dead. Instead Ian had been living in some prison being recruited as a spy! Worse, his father knew where he was the entire time! In anger, Hamish tore a piece of paper and wrote the words "I know, Ron and you know too!" He stormed outside and placed the note outside the front of the police station inside an old coffee tin amongst the rocks and weeds. He pounded his head in frustration. There must be some way to get through these lies to find out the truth! Hamish glanced at the photographs and had his answer! Surely, Ian wasn't the only child reported missing that year. At least four other children went missing. Any one of them might provide some answer. He gulped. If what Mikhail Kurenov said was true, anyone of them was not only capable of murder, but had no compunctions towards it either. The constable winced. He hoped that Mikhail was wrong about Ian at least.

Anderson entered the police station to an unusual sight. A pasteboard stood erect on the wall, that wasn't unusual. What was unusual were the five photographs of children and what looked to be a black and white photograph of several adults staring at a mass grave. Hamish stood next to it, putting string between the children's' pictures and the adults. For the piece de resistance, Hamish had two newspaper clippings tacked to the board. He was about to place an article next to the picture of a blond teenage girl. Anderson offered a quick grin. "Let's see lonely older man, pictures of children, don't tell me let me guess Buffalo Bill from _Silence of the Lambs_!"

Hamish turned to his assistant. "Funny," he said dryly. "These are part of a case."

"Well maybe you can solve a mystery for me," Jim said. "The Case of the Missing Police Constable who seems to be neglecting his personal duties for his private war against his family and seems to be sticking his nose where it isn't warranted, particularly in restricted areas."

Hamish sighed. "Isobel told you."

Jim shook his head. "No, Bruce told me. That fisherman MacDougal found your National ID card near that island. How does Isobel know?"

"Damn Bruce," Hamish cursed as he took the card from Anderson.

"Hey he's not one of my favorite people either, but he defended you," Anderson retorted. "He told him that you were following a lead on a case and that you had clearance to be there. If he hadn't done that, some mysterious creepy characters would be interrogating you in a room with a hot light instead of your partner, so what is this all about?" Before Hamish could answer, Anderson spoke again. "And before you say it's none of my business, let me remind you that we work together and your job is already on the line. If you're going to go insane at least let me share and revel in it."

Hamish couldn't resist a grin, so he told Jim what he had found so far. Jim pointed at the photos. "So, these children were at the what do you call it, the Center?"

"It appears so," Hamish replied.

"And you think someone affiliated with these kids, perhaps one of these kids themselves may have killed your dad and the other agents either working with this Hollywell chap or on their own?" Anderson asked clearly dubious. "Have you found anymore about Hollywell?"

Hamish shook his head. "I called the hotel that he was staying in and they said that he checked out and can't tell me where. I tried the 'this is part of murder investigation' ploy. Flirting, bribery and had no luck, so I decided to try this lead." He pointed at the news articles. "I've been looking on the Internet for further information about these missing kids. Since my brother was reported missing, I figured some of the others were too. I found information on Mikhail Kurenov, but aside from the first article, about a missing kid from East End London, there isn't anything further. The local police aren't exactly productive either. I couldn't get any more out of them. I can't find anything about Martin Brandell or Nicole McArdle or anyone who could resemble them. If what they said is even remotely true, which I doubt, they may have been taken as part of a custody fight since they both mentioned their parents were divorced."

"What about this lassie?" Anderson asked pointing at the blond girl.

Hamish waved a finger and touched Jim on the shoulder. "Funny you should ask. In fact it is fortuitous that you arrived because I could use your assistance."

"Why do I not like the sound of this?" Anderson asked skeptically.

"Well my theory is this lass is probably one Emma Oakfield in another name she would be the daughter of Samantha Willowes or Susan McArdle" Hamish showed him an article. "This young lady was reported missing a month before my brother. According to the article, her stepmother and father at first believed that she ran off with a new boyfriend. If that didn't ring bells for me and the similarity that the surnames Willowes and Oakfield both refer to trees, the most interesting part is this-"he held up another article. "A woman has been found a possible suicide who bears more than a subtle resemblance to Miss Oakfield 20 years older. She was believed an escaped patient from a nearby asylum. They pulled her out from the loch two weeks before Ben Al-Harrad died."

Anderson saw the picture of a woman who did share a resemblance to the beautiful young girl. Instead of the golden curls, this woman's hair was a stringy dirty blond. Anderson could see the premature lines that had formed along the once smooth skin and the dead emotionless blue eyes contrasting with the vivid cobalt. "This poor woman, what happened to her," Anderson said rhetorically. Hamish had an idea after all he had seen the early training facility. "If it is the same woman, what do you want from me?"

"Well in looking through this surely you noticed the name of the newspaper," Hamish pointed at the title. Jim read The Glasgow Heraled. Hamish rubbed his chin in mock confusion. "If only we knew someone in Glasgow who works in the police department, perhaps with the rank of detective inspector-"

"-Someone like Sandra," Jim realized. DI Sandra McDonald had worked with Hamish on an earlier case and had worked with Anderson in Inverness. She had been promoted to an inspector position in Glasgow and remained on friendly terms with both men even after Anderson's demotion. In fact, there was more than an understanding between Anderson and McDonald. "You want me to ask Sandra for information."

"Well I figure that being a colleague, former co-worker and close personal friend, you could ask her some questions about this case."

"And the fact that it could compromise not only our careers but Sandra's as well didn't enter your mind," Jim asked.

"All I need you to do is ask some questions," Hamish suggested. "Find out what we can about Emma Oakfield."

"Alright," Jim said and dialed the number for Glasgow's police station. "Can I speak to DI McDonald, please? Cheers." He waited a few minutes, then called. "Sandra, hi, it's Jim. Coming down? Well as a matter of fact I am, if you wear that thing that you wore last time." He laughed lavisciously. "Well of course I'll bring them."

Hamish cleared his throat and Jim continued. "Sandra, we're investigating a case here and we think it might be connected to one that you were investigating. You remember that suicide, woman 37-years-old former mental patient?" He listened. "Did you find the results to her identity? Alright, could you send the information our way? Alright, cheers. I'll see you next weekend." He hung up. "I hope it's worth it."

"I'm sure it will be," Hamish said as the phone rang. Anderson answered it again. He nodded and promised that one of them will be.

"There was a robbery at Major Maclean's," Anderson said. "Do you want me to-?"

Hamish glanced at the pictures of the children and sighed. "I'll go, I have a job to do. Thanks, Jim for calling Sandra. I really appreciate it." Anderson nodded as Hamish left.

Hamish drove up to the major's fancy home. It felt good to be returning to his usual routine after going through these personal issues and studying these government files. A robbery was a good change of pace. He sighed with relief and felt guilty about returning to his usual routine.

He rang the doorbell when Edie opened the door. "Is Major MacLean here?" he asked.

Edie looked confused. "No, he is in Aberdeen, why?"

"That's strange because someone reported a robbery here," Hamish said confused.

"No, believe me I would know about it," the housekeeper said.

"Aye you would," Hamish said confused. Why would someone report a robbery when there wasn't one, unless-? The constable started and ran back to the car.

"Would you like some tea," Edie asked politely.

"No, thank you," Hamish said. "I have to get back to the station!" He drove back to the police station at high speed.

When Hamish returned to the station, he found the door ajar and Jock barking frantically. "What is it boy?" Hamish asked as he entered. Papers and files were strewn about the floor. Macbeth ran to his partner. Anderson was crouched on the floor with a wound on his head. "Anderson," Hamish said. "Come on speak to me."

Anderson opened his eyes. "Och, I have a headache."

"Did you see who did this?" Hamish asked.

Anderson shook his head and rubbed his forehead. "I had my back turned and was going through the files when I heard the door open. I told the visitor to wait a minute and that's when they conked me on the head. "

"I should have been here," Hamish said. "I'm sorry."

Jim waved his hand disdainfully. "You had a job to do, the robbery."

"There wasn't one," Hamish said.

"Figures," Jim realized."They probably thought we would both be out of the way. It's a bit embarrassing for a police station to be robbed. They certainly were stupid or just overly bold." Hamish began to search the papers and files. Everything was there. "They left your wall of fame up though." Jim pointed at the pictures.

Hamish ran up to the pasteboard and saw the black and white photo was gone. "The picture's gone!"

"Which one?" Jim asked.

"The one of the older agents," Hamish realized. "They must have been looking for-Isobel!" Without another word, Hamish ran out of the police station and to the Rover.

Hamish pulled into the driveway as Isobel unlocked her door, her arms full of groceries. "Isobel!" Hamish yelled.

"Hamish, what's wrong?" Isobel said surprised to see her boyfriend so shaken.

"Did you tell anyone?" he asked.

"About what?" Isobel questioned.

"You know," Hamish nodded.

"Oh," Isobel said. "No, I hadn't been home since then. I had a call to come down for an interview in Glasgow and I did some shopping. Are you alright?"

"So you haven't been home since then?" Hamish asked.

"No," Isobel replied. "Why?" She asked as she opened the door and looked inside. "Oh my god!"

Hamish followed her in. Her home was just as much a mess as the police station. "The station looks like this too!"

Isobel returned to her computer. "It's gone," she said. "The memory stick, I put it next to mine and it's gone!"

Hamish ran to her computer. "Bloody brilliant," he cursed.

"No, to worry," Isobel reassured him. "I saved it on my computer. Here." She flipped on her computer as it gave off a loud buzzing sound. "It's never done that before." Isobel said.

Hamish's eyes widened. "Isobel, no!" He pushed her down as the computer exploded filling the house with smoke and debris.


	5. Across This New Divide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hamish encounters another earlier victim, Emma Oakfield. He ties the events together to find the murderer, but battle lines are drawn, families and friends are united and divided, and Russell receives a new mission.

Chapter Five: Across this New Divide

Hamish helped Isobel to rise. "Are you alright?" the constable asked.

"I think so," Isobel responded trying to stand on shaky legs. "Dammit, Hamish, who did this?"

"I don't know," Hamish replied. Isobel turned her head not wanting to see the debris that had fallen around her home. She tried to hold back the frightened tears, but instead she sobbed. Hamish embraced his girlfriend and led her outside. He led her to the police station and took her hand. "Just wait here," he soothed. "I'll find out." He looked outside and pulled the coffee tin from the ground. The note that he left for Ian was still inside.

"Gift from your friends?" Anderson asked motioning outside the smoke that receded from the horizon.

"I don't know," Hamish said. "Obviously, I'm getting pretty close."

"Aye, but with the evidence gone, you won't be able to prove anything," Anderson replied. Hamish rubbed his forehead feeling exhausted at all of the deception, the cover ups, and upheavals that he had been encountering lately. As he spoke, the fax beeped and several papers emerged.

"Well something has gone right," Hamish remarked as he read the fax from MacDonald. "Well we have one answer. According to DNA and family identification the suicide was Emma Oakfield. Even better we have some news reports on the story." He examined closely at the photograph, particularly one of a crowd surrounding the woman's body being pulled out. He had to squint to see the faces up close, but one looked vaguely familiar. He glanced at his watch. He had better get moving. "Jim, I've got to run. If anyone asks I'll be fishing."

"Alright," Anderson said dubiously. "I just hope it's worth it." The assistant muttered as the constable shut the door behind him.

Hamish entered the mental hospital in Glasgow as an attendant appeared at the desk. "Can I help you?" she asked.

"Yes, I'm PC Hamish Macbeth," he said flashing his ID card. "I called you."

"Yes and as I explained on the phone Constable Macbeth, we are not allowed to give that information to anyone not even to police."

"Yes I know," Hamish said somewhat testily getting tired of being bullied by these city types who think too much. "I'm sure it wouldn't be too difficult for you to tell me about your patient."

"I'm sorry," the woman said. "We can't give that information out not without a warrant!"

Hamish emerged slamming the office door behind him. He leaned against the wall when he heard someone whistle. "Hey, over here," the voice said.

Hamish looked to see a small balding man dressed in an orderly uniform. He motioned the constable forward while holding onto plates of food that he struggled to keep on the cart. He looked at the orderly skeptically. "What do you have to tell me?"

"I just wanted to say that I know the woman you were talking about," the man began.

"And I'm sure it's going to cost you," Hamish replied walking away from the man.

"No, it's just I knew her," the orderly began. When Hamish continued to walk, the orderly continued. "The name's Rory Douglas. She came in here with another woman, older dark-haired, who said that she was her mother. She, the mum now said her daughter was an aid worker in the Middle East with post-trauma. Her orders were that she gets put in intensive care and were to have no visitors and everything that she said was a manifest of her hallucination. Post-trauma and paranoid schizophrenic, they diagnosed her."

Hamish shrugged. "So, what was the problem with that?"

Rory scoffed. "I gave that woman food, looked in on her daily needs. She was as sane as you or me. True she could sometimes go off her chump in a rage, but I have been working here for 15 years. I have seen every type of nutter imaginable and she weren't no nutter."

"So what happened to her?" Hamish asked.

Rory cleared his throat as a superior walked by. The orderly waited until he was gone then whispered to the constable. "Meet me at Darbie's Pub across the street at 6:30. I'll explain everything then."

Hamish sipped on his beer and drummed his fingers on the table. He glanced at his watch, rolling his eyes. He was about to leave when the door opened and Douglas came inside. Hamish invited him to sit down. "I'm not telling this and if anyone comes after me, we are not having this conversation."

"So what are you not telling me?" Hamish said sarcastically.

"It's about Emma, I mean Miss Oakfield the girl." Douglas began. "I served her. She just seemed lost, troubled, and beautiful." He trailed off at the last words and Hamish understood: the orderly had fallen in love with her.

"Tell me what happened," Hamish said softly.

"Well she had been there five years," Rory said. "She had her routines. The only people who ever spoke to her were I and her psychiatrist. At first she was angry, violent, attacked many of the aides." He pushed up his sleeve to reveal a long scar. "I was the only one who stayed with her. I needed the job and I felt sorry for her. The more volatile that she got, she would talk about government surveillance, children trained as soldiers. The more she talked, the more her psychiatrist pumped her with medicine. The last couple of years she had been in an almost catatonic state."

"Does her psychiatrist still work at the hospital?" Hamish asked.

Rory shook his head. "He was specially requested for her. After she left, he moved on."

"I see," Hamish replied his excitement mounting. "What was his name?"

"Dr. Kendrick," Douglas replied. "He had known Emma since she was a child."

"So what happened before she died?" Hamish asked.

"The night she disappeared, a man who claimed to be her brother visited her," Rory said. "He said that he had been tracking her down for years and only just found her. He visited her for probably an hour and then left."

"And later that night she escaped," Hamish offered. "And was found the next morning, dead."

Rory nodded. "I figured he might have slipped her something to help her escape and then killed her."

Hamish shrugged. "What did this man who claimed to be her brother look like?"

"He was tall, muscular, short blond hair if I remember correctly," Rory replied.

Hamish gave him the newspaper and showed the face that he circled. "Is this the man that you remembered?" he asked.

"That's him," Rory nodded.

"Did he give his name?" Hamish said.

"Yeah, he called himself Martin I think," Rory answered. "I'm not sure if that was his first or last name."

"Cheers, I appreciate this," Hamish replied. He returned to the mental hospital. Hamish sighed with relief that the attendant was a different person than the one he spoke with earlier. "Can I help you?" he asked.

"Yes, I would like to speak with a doctor that used to work here, a Dr. Kendrick?"Hamish asked.

The receptionist nodded. "Well, you will have to require the assistance of a very good medium, then."

"How do you mean?" Hamish asked.

"Dr. Kendrick, Dr. Arthur Kendrick has been dead for about two months now. In fact, he died the same time as that woman that was pulled from the river," the receptionist replied.

"What was the cause, do you know?" Hamish asked.

"Suicide, I believe, self-inflicted gun-shot wound to the head," the clerk replied.

"Thank you," Hamish said. "May, I use a pay phone?"

"It's down the hall," the receptionist pointed. Hamish nodded thank you and approached the phone.

A familiar voice answered. "Lochdubh police station."

"Jim," Hamish replied. "I have great news!"

"Hamish, "Jim said. "Where are you? I have news as well!"

"I know who Emma Oakfield's last visitor was-"Hamish began but Jim interrupted.

"After you left, I got to thinking how suspicious the behavior of that gentleman Martin Brandell so I asked Sandra to hook me up to TIA and to get me his employment information to see if he's still an emergency medical technician. He was at the London Hospital, but hasn't worked there for over a year. Want to ask why he was fired?"

"Why was he fired?" Hamish asked.

"I thought that you'd never ask," Anderson replied. "Disorderly conduct. Apparently he got into fight with another worker. He lost his temper and almost killed the other lad! They said he was pretty strong and out of control. Does that not sound like a group of kids with physical and psychological problems?"

"Maybe," Hamish agreed. "I just heard more or less the same story about Emma Oakfield except she's been in a hospital for the past five years. Last month she was visited by her brother who bears a resemblance to our friendly ex-medical worker and she escaped. Next morning, she ends up dead around the same time her psychiatrist 'committed suicide.' "

"Do you think we have enough?" Jim asked. Hamish glanced across the alley barely listening to his assistant's question. His eyes fell on a very familiar looking warehouse. "Hamish?" Jim's voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

"What? Not yet, Jim," Hamish said. "There are some things that I want to find out first."

Hamish walked closer to the warehouse then stood on his toes. He glanced through the window to see work crews shifting boxes and moving them on forklifts. "Hey," a voice yelled. "What are you doing here?"

Hamish jumped down to see a large burly man. "Excuse me, could you tell me what company owns this warehouse?"

"It's rented by Brandell Enterprises," the man answered.

"And what do they have in there?" Macbeth asked.

The foreman shrugged. "Dunno, I've worked for them for years. It's not unusual for the inventory to say one thing but the boxes show something else."

"How long have you been working with them?" Hamish asked.

"I've worked with them for over 15 years," the man replied. "But I worked in one of their original warehouses."

"Where was that?" Hamish asked.

"Rogart," the man replied. "It's a smaller town than this. Nice place-where are you going?" He asked to Hamish's running backside.

Hamish drove to the nearby hotel and dialed a number. "Lochdubh police," he began. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a dark blue van pull over and a tall muscular blond man, a familiar man enter."Jim, get me in touch with Rogart. I'm getting some information and I will have it faxed over to Sandra." He blurted out.

John Brandell continued to glance outside as he had every fifteen minutes. He doused another brandy as the interview on television bored into his thoughts. The reporter spoke, her accent all business-like."When asked if the rumors of TIA entering the rest of Great Britain including Scotland and Northern Ireland, the prime minister had this to say-"

The screen then turned to the Prime Minister with his sophisticated cutting voice and stony expression. "You may think that if you like, I couldn't possibly comment." Brandell rolled his eyes. He always hated that smug bastard. He reached over and turned off the television as the reporter mentioned former President Barack Obama's tense commentaries against Britain's surveillance system. "Everyone has an opinion," Brandell muttered as he dialed a number.

"Gibbon," George Gibbon's voice came through.

"Gibbon, you have got to get me out of here," Brandell whispered frantically. He listened closely for any sort of movement or any sign that he was not alone in the dark, now silent room.

"Brandell," Brandell's former colleague sounded flushed and strained. "We are in the middle of a crisis down here!"

"Well I am in the middle of a crisis up here," Brandell shot back. His ears perked up. Did the hotel room door creak open? His breath caught in his throat. He thought he heard the drapes shift. "I don't want to surprise you but three of my former colleagues are dead. I tried to contact Mrs. Al-Harrad, but I can't reach her! Grant, the lucky bastard has been dead for 8 years! In case your arithmetic is bad, that leaves one, one left from the Lion and the Unicorn! Get me out of here!"

"Calm down, John," George commanded. "I'll get you out as soon as I can!"

"Do it immediately," Brandell replied.

"We started something that we never should have," George warned. Privately, Brandell wondered if his former colleague was referring to other things. Suddenly, the hairs in the back of his neck stood on end. He felt the same way he did when he was a boy and believed that there was a ghost in his family's country estate. He swore that he could always feel someone watching him. He felt that way now. "I have to go," Brandell whispered.

"Brandell," Gibbon's voice called through the phone. Brandell stood up and faced his intruder. He looked the person in the eye, knowing that death had come. He faced him with no apologies and no regrets. "It was an experiment. We used every resource that we could." The figure didn't give the older man a chance to say more as he pulled out a silenced revolver and shot the older man point blank.

"Brandell, Brandell," Gibbon called through the phone, his throat caught with both is current worries and past ones. He sighed and dialed Turney's number. "Barbara, before we are concerned about our current topic, I need a favor."

On the other line, Barbara was all too willing to grant George's favor, because she knew that's where she would find the perfect agent for their next job. She dialed Her Majesty's Inspectorate of Constabulary. "Hello?" a voice called.

"Yes, I would like to make a report on an impending fraudulent arrest. The constable's name is Hamish Macbeth," she waited for an answer.

Hamish arrived in Glasgow entering the hotel with Detective Henderson, Sgt. Gillis, and DI Sandra McDonald and two of her sergeants of the Glasgow's forces. Henderson held up a warrant. "Excuse me, we would like to speak with two guests that we believe are staying here, John and Martin Brandell."

The clerk looked at each police officer, but checked her computer. "Yes, they're staying in 604, a suite. Johnny, show them the room," she said pointing to a young attendant. He nodded the police officers to follow him. They reached the sixth floor in silence and walked through the hallway. Hamish thought that there was almost an eerie feeling to the silence. The officers stepped aside. McDonald held up a finger and knocked on the door. "Mr. Brandell, this is the police. Open the door!" No answer. She knocked again. "Mr. Brandell, open up!" She nodded at her two associates as they kicked the door down. The police officers looked around.

"There's no one here," Henderson remarked. "This had better be worth it, Macbeth."

"Trust me," Hamish said. He felt something crunch underfoot. He moved his boot and looked down at two fingers that had crushed under the weight of his heavy police officer's boots. "I think this should be worth it." He pointed downward. The officers pulled out the body of a gray haired man.

"John Brandell," Henderson said. "Apparently, your conspiracy theory might be true after all, Macbeth."

Hamish grimaced taking that as a compliment. But something didn't feel right. He felt an immediate tension. He heard a strident whisper in his ears –or was it in his head?- say, "Look in the rubbish bin."

"Look in the rubbish bin," Hamish ordered. McDonald nodded at her two aides as one of them, a Sgt. Gregory pulled out a small device surrounded by wires and a clock. "Shit," Gregory yelled "It's a bomb!" He pulled out a pair of scissors."Chaps always seem calm in the flickers," he glanced at the explosive closely as the officers gathered tense around him. The officer closed reached over and cut a blue wire. The police officers sighed with relief. Gregory grinned modestly." I had explosives training in Northern Ireland. Once you disarm some of those, this seems like child's play."

McDonald and Gillis patted Gregory on the back as McDonald turned to Hamish. "How did you know it was there, Hamish?" she asked.

The constable shrugged. "Lucky guess? It seemed like a trap." He was prevented from answering further when Martin Brandell entered. He glanced at the police officers, his eyes widening. "Mr. Brandell," McDonald said. "We have a warrant for your arrest."

Brandell appeared calm. "For what may I ask?"

McDonald motioned Hamish forward as the constable replied. "For the murders of Emma Oakfield, Ben Al-Harrad, Susan and Nicole McArdle, John Brandell, and Angus Macbeth."

"Quite a list," Brandell said sarcastically. "I assume you have evidence, possibly motive."

Hamish looked to McDonald and Henderson. "May I?"

Henderson waved him forward. "Go ahead it'll be your neck on the line."

"You knew that your father was part of the British Intelligence service and that Ben Al-Harrad, his former colleague was going to go public with their mission," Macbeth said. "Perhaps you received orders from your father. Perhaps you acted on your own accord, still trying to score points with Dear Old Dad. It was very easy for you to make appointments with them since you used your father's private line from Brandell Enterprises. "

"And how would I know that?" Martin said patronizingly.

"You've been working for your father, "Hamish remarked sarcastically.

"I'm an Emergency Medical Worker-" Brandell shot back.

"-Who was fired for disorderly conduct," Hamish remarked. "Anyway, you arranged to meet Al-Harrad, McArdle, and Macbeth to "talk with them," perhaps to allegedly convince them to not make the story public. But you couldn't meet them in Glasgow could you? It's too public. So you arranged to meet them at the old Brandell Warehouse in Rogart. You were able to catch Al-Harrad before he went public and well it was easy for Macbeth since he lived in the area. Naturally, his funeral gave you the perfect opportunity for McArdle. She was assigned to find out who killed her late colleagues, with her co-workers, Gabriel and Nicola McArdle."

"Her son and daughter-in-law," Brandell replied.

"I think we can cut the pseudonyms, they were no more related than you and I are," Hamish retorted. "In reality they were Mikhail Kurenov and Nicole Grant, agents who had been recruited by the SIS as you were… Martin Hollywell."

Instead of being shocked, Brandell just gave a thin smile. "Interesting story that you have there. It has just about everything except ninjas and secret formulae. Does your superior let you out of the asylum often?"

Sandra stepped forward. "It did some digging, but I was able to find custody records for you and Ms. Grant. You were placed in your fathers' sole custodies the same year that Emma Oakfield, Mikhail Kurenov, and-" Hamish nodded as Sandra continued. "Ian Macbeth disappeared. Do you deny it?"

The young man shrugged. "I don't deny it. Hollywell was my birth name. My father changed it when I was a toddler. I even went to school for a time under my mum's maiden name, Piper. Anyway, that's in the past. Three missing kids and two divorced kids, not exactly big news these days, " Brandell answered.

"No," McDonald replied. "But it's established that you have earlier ties with all of the murdered victims that might be a problem."

"If it's established that I killed the old folks what need would I have to kill the ladies, what were there names, Nicole Grant and Emma Oakland?"

"That's easy," Hamish said. "Nicole Grant was trailing you. She caught you in the act of murdering Samantha Willowes, the woman posing as her mother-in-law. She ran and you caught up with her. I did think it was odd you showed up out of nowhere and of course she had a very nasty habit of living, so it wasn't too unlikely for a former medical technician to cut the wire to her respirator just a tad so she couldn't breathe."

Brandell still retained his cocky demeanor, but his eyes betrayed. Hamish saw them widen with suspicion and fear. "And the other woman?"

"According to an employee at the mental asylum she was held in, you were her final visitor. You helped her escape and the next morning she had drowned in the river," Hamish replied.

"There was a knife on her," Sandra replied. "It was in her hand, but wasn't used for her wrists. We figured that she used it to cut at her straight waistcoat and an accomplice on the other side helped her leave the room. "

"Care to add anything," Hamish asked. "Like when she died. Perhaps, you got into a fight and pushed her in or she drowned. Anyway that's speculation, but we can certainly arrest you for the others."

"How?" Brandell asked.

"I agree," Henderson replied. "Macbeth, you don't have any real evidence just theories. "

"That's what I needed to get from the main office of Brandell Enterprises," Hamish answered. "They keep records of the number of times that your father made a call using his private line and the numbers that they had recorded. I certainly recognize one of them." He passed the paper around showing the circled numbers. "I also have records of the number of times that you and your Dad's I.D. were used to open the warehouse doors in Rogart." He passed another paper around. "Any questions?"

Henderson read Brandell's rights as he slapped handcuffs on the young blond man. Hamish hoped for an admission of guilt, blame against his father, anything. Instead he looked straight at Hamish, no regret, no guilt, no feeling at all in his eyes or body. "I want a solicitor," was all he said.

McDonald's aides led Brandell to the police van, when sirens came screaming forward. Hamish glanced in surprise as several police cars pulled up. Various police officers emerged from the vehicles including Anderson and, Hamish hated this, DI Bruce, his superior.

One of the men stepped forward. "Sandra McDonald, Hamish Macbeth," he spoke in very cultured English pronunciation. Both police officers nodded. "I am Superintendant Conniver. I am an attaché of HMIC. I want this man released and all charges dropped." Hamish saw the man's I.D. as proof.

Hamish stood at first like stone as the officers undid the bracelets on Brandell's wrists. "No, you can't do this," Hamish said at first softly. He saw another police officer lead the suspect away, when Hamish ran up to them. "You can't do this!" He repeated this time more fiercely. Anderson and Bruce held him back.

"Hamish, we have no choice," Anderson began. "Sorry, Sandra." McDonald nodded. She obviously didn't like it, but she recognized the severity. "Hamish, Bruce and these other blokes from Edinburgh arrived after you called. They said that this case was too 'highly sensitive' and they wanted it dropped."

"But I have evidence, real proof," Hamish commanded desperately. He turned to his superior. "Bruce, I am telling the truth."

"Macbeth," Bruce said. "These officers have evidence of their own that you weren't doing your job because of emotional trauma. They said that because one of the murdered victims was your father, it created a conflict of interest, therefore you weren't doing your job and any evidence could be countered in court."

"That's ridiculous," Hamish began. "I have records-"

"-Those records are suspect because you obtained them without permission from your superiors," Bruce reminded him. "That's what they'll say," he added almost apologetically.

"The photographs of the 'Lion and the Unicorn' are a motive," Hamish continued.

"Those photographs were obtained by other parties and are now missing," Bruce told him. "According to both you and Anderson, these alleged photos no longer exist, so it would be a hard time proving that they ever existed."

"What about the Center-that place in the island that I saw," Hamish continued.

Bruce handed him a photograph. "You mean this?" Hamish looked and saw…Nothing. He recognized the bluffs and the rocky terrain of the island that he saw, but buildings and towers were gone. The only thing that remained was the rusted fence. "This was a base, but had been unoccupied for decades."

Hamish shook his head. "That is not what I saw!"

"There is nothing there Hamish," Bruce said in a trying voice like a patient adult to a troublesome child. "And it's now your word against theirs."

"But Emma Oakfield," Hamish said. "I have a witness who said that he saw her before she died."

"Even if you could prove that Brandell helped Miss Oakfield escape and then killed her, you don't have any evidence to link him to the other murders," Hamish hovered next to his superior. He knew that he had been beaten: that everything that he went through had been for nothing.

"They got to you didn't they?" Hamish realized. "They put pressure on you so you obeyed."

"They threatened to take it up with the Home Office," Bruce said. "They threatened to put myself and several other officers off duty permanently in the constabulary, so yes they threatened me. " Hamish sank down as Bruce put his hand on the constable's shoulder. "Hamish, they could have blackballed you across the field. Not only could you have been removed from your post, but you would never have found work anywhere else. Can you put your family through that?"

Hamish looked down at his boots. He wished that he could find another objection, anything. He knew that there was no way out. He shook his head. He glanced up as one of the officers accompanied Brandell into a waiting unmarked vehicle. Hamish approached Conniver. "Where are they taking him?"

"To a facility where he will be cared for and is none of your concern," the man snapped. He nodded as the other man entered his car and drove away.

Hamish felt tears sting his eyes. "I'm sorry, Dad," he whispered as the other police officers drove away. He lowered his head and unlocked the Land Rover. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a reflection in the window behind him. For a moment there, he thought he saw an exact duplicate of himself standing behind him. Hamish turned around, but couldn't see anyone out of the ordinary. He tried calling, "Ian, is that you?" He called his brother's name once again. "Ian, David! Answer me, please!" But he heard and saw nothing.

Hamish fished into his pocket for his copy of his mother's house key. He slowly opened the door dreading coming inside and what he would have to tell his family. He entered the front hallway to see Malcolm, Robey, and Marcia dressed in coats with their bags packed.

"Heading off, then?" Hamish asked wearily.

"To London," Robey explained. "Marci and I are going to a Magna Carta meeting and Malcolm's going to a funeral for a friend." Malcolm nodded thinly.

"Seems all I ever do is go from one funeral to another yeah," Malcolm joked but Hamish could tell his brother's humor was forced this time.

"What happened?" Hamish asked.

"Land mine," Malcolm replied. "You never see 'em coming. A great lad too, Michael. He used to always call me 'Groundskeeper Willie' because of my accent. The only good thing is if she's better, I'll see Nadir, the lass I told you about, again."

"Aye, the goddess," Hamish remembered. "I'm sorry about your friend." He sank down onto a nearby chair.

"Hamish what's the matter?" Marcia asked. Hamish hesitated, but then told his brother, sister, and sister-in-law the news about Brandell's arrest and release.

"Fucking corrupt system," Robyn cursed. "No offense, Ham."

"None taken, I'm beginning to agree with you," Hamish said. They talked a little bit on safe topics, before Robey looked at her watch.

"We need to go," Robyn said. "Unless you want us to stick around, Ham."

Hamish shook his head. "No it's okay, I'll be fine. I have to tell mum."

Robey nodded. "Yeah," she gave her older brother a big bear hug then punched him on the shoulder. "Call me, you idjit, don't think you have to handle this by yourself."

Hamish winced in pain, but nodded. He then hugged Marcia. "I'm sorry, Hamish, I'm sure you did your best. Sometimes that's all anyone could ever do."

"Thanks, Marcia," Hamish said. "You're good for Robey I can tell."

Marcia flashed a hundred watt smile as she held her companion's hand. Malcolm embraced Hamish tightly, the smaller constable almost suffocating under his taller brother's girth. He pulled away. "Sorry, Ham. Sometimes the bad guys win."

Hamish waved as his siblings and Marcia left the house. "Yes, but sometimes it's hard to tell who the bad guys even are," Hamish whispered to himself. He glanced at Murron and Joe Jr. playing outside while Alec kept a watch for them, but was obviously more interested in the music on his iPod than on his sister and nephew. Hamish shook his head deciding not to tell the younger ones.

He walked upstairs and knocked softly on his mother's bedroom door. "Come in," his mother's voice called. Hamish entered seeing his mother lying down and Fee sitting next to her.

"How are you feeling, mum?" Hamish asked.

"I have my ups and downs, but I'll be fine," she said.

Hamish turned to his sister. "Fee, I need to talk to Mum alone can you-"

Fee stepped away. "Don't upset her, Hamish," she warned as she left the room.

"I know," Hamish whispered. He waited until she closed the door from behind her. Hamish sat on the chair recently vacated by his younger sister.

"Don't be harsh with her, Hamish," his mother said. "She just received wonderful news. Joe will be coming home soon. She'd been so worried and had so many anxieties on her mind."

"That is great, mum," Hamish agreed. "I'll do something to help her."

He drummed his fingers on the edge of his mother's bed. "Mum, I have something to tell you about Dad's killer-"

"-Did you catch him?" his mother asked.

Hamish bit his lip and blanched. "Yeah, they got him. He's behind bars now. He'll probably get life."

Aileen looked squarely at her son as though she caught him misbehaving as he had as a child. "Hamish, if there is one thing that your father and I brought our children up learning, it was never to lie to us."

"I'm sorry, mum," Hamish said. "I did catch him, but he was released. I feel… I promised him that I would bring his killer to justice, I promised everyone in this family. All of the other criminals that I caught and I couldn't stop this one. I failed him."

Aileen held her son's hand tightly as her grip shook. "Tell me everything that happened," she said. Hamish looked down. How much could he tell her? Was it his duty to inform his mother of her husband's past? "I found out some things and I didn't know how to deal with them but I wanted to help Dad maybe despite or because of them. I thought maybe that what I did could have somehow erased what he did. Nothing changed, it never changed."

"Hamish people make mistakes, especially when they have the best intentions," Aileen said. Hamish thought about his mother's reassuring words. He knew they referred to more than just Hamish's current situation.

"You knew about what dad did and those children," Hamish realized. His mother nodded. "How, did he tell you?"

She shook her head. "Remember when I told you that during the first years of our marriage how he was confused and disoriented? Some nights he talked in his sleep." Hamish winced at the news as his mother continued. "Hamish, I don't know why he did it nor what he could have done to stop it but I believe that when he returned that he set to become a better man than the one who was capable of doing those things. I forgave him long ago, so should you."

"I don't know if I can," Hamish said.

Aileen reached across her desk and pulled out an envelope. "Hamish, this is for you. I found it this morning as the others were cleaning out the last of your father's things. He wrote it before he left to meet that man. I think your father can explain this better than I could."

Hamish's hands shook as he saw the envelope with his name written on it in his father's bold hand writing. He opened it and read the note written in his father's characteristic terse voice:

 _Hamish,_

 _I am writing this to you because I know that you will be strong enough to pull this family through the difficult days ahead. A former friend of mine intends to make public some secrets that I have long kept from you and I am supporting him in this decision._

 _I suppose I should say all of the usual guff that many young men and women have about joining the Secret Service. I longed for adventure, was committed to the ideals of patriotism, and very bored with the life that I had been handed. I thought somehow I was meant for more than the life of a tenant farmer in some small village. The SIS seemed like the best choice out and maybe I would return a hero and worthy of your mother's love. However, the reality is very different from the fantasy that I imagined. I saw people acting contrary to those ideals, sometimes I did myself. I took part in a mission that resulted in the deaths of several innocent children and adults. I won't go into the ugly details, except that I ended the mission shaken and disturbed by what we were and what I had become. The brass used all of the usual bollocks about "acceptable losses" and "failed missions" but I knew the truth, we killed innocent lives whose only crime was being Soviet. I resigned thereafter and returned home, married, and resumed the normal life that I had once thought myself too grand for._

 _Eventually I settled into our lives with nothing to recall those dark days, save the occasional nightmare. I was very happy with your mother and eight, yes eight, children whom I adored over all others. However, years later my former supervisor, Robert Hollywell appeared and offered to train both you and Ian in the same career that I had gladly left. At first, I refused, but Hollywell threatened to take you both without my permission and train you. I surrendered and said if he had take any, Ian would handle that life better than you would. How I regret those words. Within a year's time, another lad had appeared. I guess you remember Jo Haney. I knew that Hollywell had selected him to recruit your brother. I phoned Hollywell and told him to stay away from my family and that I changed my mind. He threatened me with arrest for sedition and treason and could have ruined us. I stayed silent, when your brother was taken. We made a show of searching for him, though I knew where he was. I hated myself then and I hate now that I remained silent when I should have spoken._

 _I don't know what the outcome will be whether arrest, exile, or God knows what else, but all I know is that I no longer want to live these lies. You have made a career of punishing those who are guilty of crimes. I can tell you that the worst punishment is to get away with what you knew was wrong, because it eats you up inside until there is no longer anything left. Just know that whatever punishment that myself and my former colleagues receive is justified. I hope you can forgive me, because I will need all of the forgiveness that you can spare._

 _Love,_

 _Dad_

Hamish looked up from his father's letter. His body shook and his eyes filled. He couldn't hold his feelings in any longer as he wrapped his mother in his arms and they wept together.

Murdo waited on the Edinburgh street as the car pulled up. He felt his mouth go dry and his knees wobble as he entered the car. He felt slightly ill as though he were taking a ride with the Devil himself. Right now, he felt like the man driving was.

"Do you have it?" Bryan Holland asked impatiently. Murdo nodded and passed the memory stick to his employer. "Excellent work, Macbeth, our associates higher up will be most pleased with your actions in this matter."

"Does that include nearly killing two people?" Murdo shot back. Holland fixed him a look of feigned ignorance.

"You did your job, Macbeth," he reassured his employee.

"It wasn't necessary for me to put that explosive in Miss Sutherland's computer or knock Sgt. Anderson over the head!", Murdo countered.

"Because they would have gladly handed the information over to you if you asked," Holland sarcastically gibed. "Our colleagues in the government wanted the job done and you did it. That's all."

"If Hamish had seen me-" Murdo swore. "He's the eldest, now the head of our family-"

"-If you can ignore your Celtic backwoods superstitions for five minutes and live in the real world, you will see that you have committed a great service for this government," Holland replied testily. "No good have come of revealing this." He pointed at the memory stick.

"Hooray for me," Murdo muttered sarcastically. Bryan pulled over to Murdo's apartment and opened the door for him.

"Well done Macbeth, we will certainly make note of this during promotion time," Murdo exited the vehicle.

"It was the least that I could do after all what did I have to lose?" Murdo asked. _Just my soul,_ he thought sourly. The analyst slammed the door and lit a cigarette. He paced back and forth torn between eager anticipation and dread over his promotion and what else his superiors would make him do.

Holland drove through the Edinburgh trying to get back to the hotel before sleep overcame him. His cell phone beeped. "Holland," he barked.

"Bryan," Andrew called through the phone. "Take an early flight back to London tonight."

"I'm heading for the airport tomorrow," Bryan replied. "What's the rush?"

"Because we found our TIA mascot and he's flying in from China right now as we speak," Wilcox replied.

"It's not that Izzard fellow is it?" Holland asked confused about his somewhat nerdy friend's interests.

"Ezzard and the very same," Andrew corrected.

Bryan sighed. "Oh well, let's take a look at the man. I can't promise anything."

Barbara unlocked the front door to her flat. She turned on the light and jumped in surprise. David Russell was sitting nonchalantly on her couch sipping wine that had obviously been lifted from her refrigerator. The superior breathed a silent relief that her husband was away on a business trip. "This takes like piss," the agent remarked. "Don't you have any good hard liquor?"

"We don't anticipate any visitors in the middle of the night and how the hell did you get in here anyway?" Turney asked. The flat had top-notch security. They would have let her know if there was a breach.

"I used the stairs," Russell innocently taunted in a "that's for me to know and you to find out" tone.

"I assume you are here to give me your report," she said.

"Half of it is done," Russell reminded her. "If you give me some information like where they took Martin Brandell, I can proceed with the other half."

"I can't imagine why, but I don't suspect I should tell you," Turney dryly replied. "You are what is commonly known as a 'high risk security breach.' "

"You bought the finished product," Russell remarked. "Don't bother asking how it was made."

"Particularly with your liberal definitions of your instructions," Turney replied as if uninterrupted. "You were supposed to shadow the MI-5 agents, Willowes, Grant, and Kurenov to find out who killed the former agents. You were not supposed to contact anyone on the outside!"

"Did you or did you not want to find out who killed those agents and if there were any further leaks in security?," Russell said. "I think I accomplished both of those tasks."

"By getting local law enforcement involved," Turney shot back. "What possessed you to contact Hamish Macbeth? Familial reasons?"

Hamish winced as though the operative had slapped him across the face. "No, if I was to stay hidden, then I knew he could do the job. I gave him the lead and he followed like a trained dog."

"Which led him to The Centre," Barbara reminded him. "We spent the last 48 hours back pedaling on that little bit of information."

"That wasn't my doing," Russell shot back. "Macbeth followed that lead from Kurenov and his mum. By the time I got back in touch with him, they were already gone. Believe me, if I had the choice he wouldn't have followed that lead." There was a lost tone in that final declaration as though there was some feeling that the agent did not want to divulge.

"I wonder if you were up for the task," Turney muttered. "It's not your world, anymore, Russell."

"You don't think I don't know that," Russell shot back with more tension than he intended. "It was a job, just like any other and as soon as Brandell, Junior is taken care of, it will be over."

"For now we will leave this assignment unfinished," Turney said. She reached over and flipped on the video that she had received earlier. She motioned for Russell to look at a jeep that exploded in the desert. "This was Michael Ezzard, an aid worker in Afghanistan. He was asking too many questions about a bad batch of Hepatitis injection given to the refugees. "

"Yeah, I heard something about that," Russell remembered. "There was some doings about microbiologists ending up mysteriously dead."

"What happened to the Official Secrets Act?" Turney asked.

"It matters very little when agents are pissed," Russell quipped. "Then they are as talkative as anyone."

"Whatever, anyway," Turney answered. "A couple of his allies are in London and I am pretty sure it's not for sightseeing. One of them you know rather well," She motioned on a photo of a young woman with long dark hair.

Russell nodded. "We used to work together in the Afghanistan. She's a double agent, a great shot too. She resigned and disappeared."

"She goes under the name of Nadir-Al Fulani," Barbara replied. "She claimed to be a refugee. She is currently in London with one of the doctors. I want you to find out what they know. We could really use a sweeper if the results are what we fear. "

Russell didn't bother to ask what they were afraid of. They were always afraid of one thing or another. "You know my usual fee. We'll discuss the contract particulars shortly."

Turney nodded. "Oh and one other thing, Michael's brother, Stephen is flying in from China. The Government Minister wants him to represent Inquirendo regarding TIA. I want you to shadow him as well in case he might get suspicious and start asking questions about his brother's death."

"What makes you think he would do that?" Russell asked.

"Wouldn't most brothers?" Turney countered. Russell glared at her knowing that she referred to more than the Ezzards.

Russell stood up. "Don't contact me. I will contact you if I need to." He turned from his superior. "I know my way out."

David Russell stood outside in the London early morning. He kept himself hidden in the darkness so he wouldn't be seen just where he liked it. He thought about his next assignment before he allowed any more fragments from the previous assignment cut to the remnants of emotions that he felt. _It's not your world anymore_ , he repeated Turney's words to himself almost as a mantra as he pushed any further thoughts about Hamish, The Brandells, Lochdubh, his father or anything else from his mind. Instead he focused on the job ahead and what he could do about that.


	6. No Direction Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which hints of the Macbeth's future are revealed, loose ends are tied up, Hamish gets rescued from certain death, and twins reunite. But not in a good way.

Chapter 6: No Direction Home

"I just wanted to let you know what they were like, Esme, in case there are any problems," Hamish continued.

Esme's warm chuckle emerged from the phone. "I know what I'm doing, Hamish. Those diplomas and teaching certificates on my wall are not just meant for decoration. I have dealt with troubled children before even ones like Murron and Alec. You don't need to worry."

"I'm not worried," Hamish said. "I just want to make the transition as smooth for them as possible."

"Spoken like a true father," Esme quipped. "I have to leave. Good-bye, Hamish."

"Good-bye," Hamish replied as the schoolteacher hung up. The constable placed the phone on the receiver and lit a cigarette.

Hamish glanced outside his window thinking of all the changes that had happened in the two months since his father's murder. Hamish fingered the phone trying to decide whether to call about his mother's condition. He shook his head. If the worst happened, Fee would notify everyone. _Don't trouble, trouble_ , he thought. His mother held on as well as she could after her husband's death, but she took another turn recently and this looked to be her last. Now the family was on high alert awaiting word any day now. On top of that, Joe had returned home from Afghanistan. Hamish figured that he could relieve his sister one burden by volunteering to take in Fee and Alec, so he had spent the better part of this past week converting the spare bedroom and storage area into bedrooms for the two children and getting them enrolled in school.

Hamish had heard vague things about his other siblings and their involvement. Malcolm had returned from his internship and began work at an emergency room in Glasgow. He never talked much about his time in the refugee camp except that he considered Glasgow a slower pace. Robey and Marcia had continued their activities in Magna Carta. Just recently they had taken part in an Artists Against the System exhibit. Robey was glad to report that she and Marcia were officially considered "Disturbers of the Peace" as far as the London government was concerned. As for Murdo, well he hadn't said much since his promotion to London. In fact he hardly said anything at all to Hamish or any of the other relatives.

Hamish glanced over at the darkness that now filled what used to be Isobel's home. Shortly after Brandell's arrest and release, she had accepted a position in Edinburgh. Hamish knew that any chance of reconciliation was no longer possible. As for himself, he just survived continued to pretend that life was as normal as possible.

The ringing phone broke into his thoughts. Jock jumped up from his bed and started to bark. "Down boy," Hamish warned. He picked up the phone and called. "Hello."

Silence emerged from the phone. At first Hamish thought the person had hung up, but then he heard a voice whisper into the phone. "Reggie?"

Hamish felt himself grow weak, not wanting to believe but at the same time hoping. "Ronnie?" Hamish answered. "Ian, what is it?"

The voice didn't answer the question instead gave him an instruction. "Meet me at the place where you last saw me." Before Hamish could reply the dial tone emerged revealing the call had ended.

Hamish climbed the steep hills until he came to the one that he and Ian had sat in front of long ago. The constable traced the names of himself and his brother carved into the side. They had carved their names into the rock when they were 12 so they always knew where to find their secret place and that they could come back to it any time.

The sound of footsteps echoed up the hill. Hamish's breath caught into his throat. "Ian? Ronnie," Hamish called. When the voice didn't answer, Hamish called. "David?"

"Guess again," interjected a familiar and unwelcome voice. Hamish's eyes widened in surprise as he saw Martin Brandell standing before him with a gun in his hand and a look that revealed he had every compulsion to use it.

"What are you doing here?" Hamish tensed. He reached into his pocket for the official revolver and realized that he left it in the police station. He kept his hand in his pocket hoping that he could fool Brandell. Maybe he could fight him.

"I just want to settle some business," the young man hissed.

"You're free, you got off," Hamish said. "There's nothing to settle." He walked away.

"There is to me!" Brandell yelled his voice strangled. Hamish turned around. "They take away your emotions, you know. I mean they can't really do that but they break you until you don't feel a thing. You could butcher your own family and you wouldn't suffer even an hour of unbroken sleep filled with remorse. When I killed them I felt nothing."

"You did," Hamish nodded. "Why? Were you acting under orders?"

"I was only told to take care of Al-Harrad," Brandell replied. "Think of the others as my eternal F.U. to my father."

"But why?" Hamish asked.

"You have to ask?" the younger man practically screamed. "You saw what they did. You saw what we had become. I wasn't lying when I said that I wanted to be everything that he wasn't. But the truth is the more I ran the more my past caught up with me. I didn't just do it for me, I did it for her."

Hamish realized. "Emma. You did kill her."

"She begged me to kill her. She had a complete break-down troubled by hallucinations, fear. When I wouldn't, she jumped. I vowed that I would destroy every link to that awful place."

"That included both of our fathers," Hamish shot back. "What about Nicole?"

Well Nicole should have learned to mind her own business. She's the only one who was foolish enough to see the whole thing as an adventure, Naïve little bitch!" Martin said with some regret. "Why should your father be allowed to live and pretend nothing had happened while we suffered?" Brandell asked. "And as for my father he was never a real father to me. I was just an experiment to him. But I didn't kill him. I placed the explosive to remove all traces."

"Why should I believe you?" The constable asked.

"You're hardly in a position to question such things," Martin replied.

"And did it make it right," Hamish asked. "Do you sleep better knowing that they're dead?"

"The truth is, I don't feel anything," Martin said wearily. "Bits and pieces but nothing solid."

"So why kill me" Hamish asked. "You have nothing to gain and nothing to lose."

"This is just for pleasure," Martin replied. He aimed his gun, but Hamish kicked the weapon from the other man's hand. The gun clacked down to the ground below. With a low guttural cry, Brandell lunged onto Hamish. Hamish and Martin fought at each other until Martin held Hamish over the edge. Hamish felt weak and out of breath as the taller muscular man struggled with him. He wondered how much longer he could hold on, when a shot rang through the air. Martin stopped confused. He turned around and closed his eyes with regret and disappointment etched on his face. Hamish rose from underneath the dying man and as he did, Martin tumbled from his grasp and fell to the ground below. The constable tried to hold on, but the other man made no effort to grab on as he fell.

Hamish grabbed onto the rocks trying to maintain his balance. Russell looked down where Brandell had fallen panting from exhaustion and release. He looked his twin brother in the eye and moved. "Wait," Hamish said. Russell glared at him and tried to walk away but Hamish interrupted. "If you leave again, I will call every police officer in the constabulary and tell them what you have done. You know I can."

Russell glared at him. "And what pray tell do you want from me?"

Hamish gasped in annoyance. "I think you owe me something. An explanation, something, tell me where you've been, where you're going. I think you owe me that much!"

Russell approached Hamish and grabbed him by the shirt. "Listen, I don't owe you any damn thing! I already paid that debt with him!"

Hamish pushed himself away from Russell. "Did you kill Brandell's father?"

"What do you think?" Russell sneered. He then headed away from the constable.

"I don't understand," Hamish asked. "Last I saw you; you were planning on running off with Jo Haney. What happened to him anyway?"

"Well last I saw him he was in the Arabian Desert," Russell replied. "So, I imagine what remains of him must be in, uh, the Arabian Desert."

"So you killed him as well," Hamish realized.

"He got what he wanted from me and I got what I wanted from him," Russell quipped sarcastically. "I didn't think we were going to 'just be friends' afterwards."

"Where are you going now?" Hamish asked.

The agent grinned sardonically. "I don't know; maybe have a smoke and a cup of tea afterwards. Or perhaps I'll take what's left of Brandell where he won't be noticed."

"You don't have to worry about that," Hamish swore. "I can help you. Its self-defense, anyone could see that. I can't promise you any amnesty over John Brandell's death but-"

"Damn it, I'm not thinking of them!" Russell snapped. Hamish realized whom his brother was referring to: his employers. "You're shitting yourself if I mean any more to them than Brandell did. You live in a world of black and white where the bad gets punished and even if they did something for the right reasons, justice is done. I don't have that luxury! I already fucked up once and you don't get to do that more than once with them!"

"Maybe you will be better off in prison, then," Hamish said wryly. "At least you'll be safe."

"Gee thanks, Constable Macbeth," Russell said with mock sincerity. "Great job so far!"

"Why don't you stay here in Lochdubh?" Hamish asked. "No one would think less of you and I'm certain no one would report you either."

David shook his head. "I spent the better part of 22 years trying to put barriers between myself and you so you can live your goddamn simple life without any interference. How quickly do you think those barriers would dissolve if I went back?" He turned away from Hamish so his brother wouldn't catch the emotion on his face.

Hamish thought for a minute in silence. The wind chilled through his spine. "What about Mum?"

"What about her?" Russell asked softly.

"You aren't going to see her, so what should I tell her?" Hamish asked.

"Nothing," Russell replied shortly.

"Nothing," Hamish asked incredulously. "Tell our mother that she could have spoken to the son that had been lost for over 20 years and couldn't because he didn't want to see her?"

The agent glared at his twin, the two brothers were mirror images of each other staring with the same equal parts anger and confusion. "Or you could tell her that her long-lost son is a hired killer! I'm sure she would love to go to the Next World with that image in her brain! If you want her to die peacefully, then you don't tell her one fucking thing about me! It's easier that way!"

"Easier for her or for you?" Hamish snapped. Ian glared and for one second, Hamish thought that he would shoot him. Instead he turned away from his brother. Hamish gently touched Ian on the shoulder. The agent recoiled as though he was bit by a snake. He almost reached for his gun, but then relaxed his hold as though he realized who was standing next to him. "Why won't you go back? Tell me the truth. It has nothing to do with your employers or Mum or anything else."

Russell looked down at his hands for a long time in silence. "Dad, Angus, he chose to walk away from being an agent, but he couldn't really walk away. Many of the others at the Center attempted to live normal lives, but inside they couldn't. Their pasts always caught up with them. With all that I had done, I know that I can't go back. It would be harder going back, than it would be to continue." Ian just hung limp and exhausted leaning against the rocks for support.

"Don't you regret it?" Hamish asked.

"The truth is, I don't regret it at all, Reg," Hamish smiled at the return of his old nickname. "I mean a few turns down the road. Who doesn't? But no, everyone did what they had to do including me."

"Isn't there anything that I can do?" Hamish asked.

Ian walked away from the edge towards the shadows. "The only thing that you can do for me is turn around, go home, and forget that you ever saw me, or talked to me."

Hamish nodded and his eyes filled. He turned away from his brother trying to stifle the lump in his throat. "Hey, Ian," Hamish called. Russell slowly turned at his former name. "Should you ever change your mind or feel like coming home, you know where I live."

Ian smiled a thin smile that Hamish returned. "I won't but thank you," He replied. Russell slowly backed into the darkness almost fading into it. Hamish waited for a few minutes to make sure that his brother was gone. He waited a half an hour, then he turned around and went home.

The End


End file.
